


Dennis is Mac's Baby Daddy

by WhatupGhouls



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Can you do a crackfic seriously?, Canon-Typical Gang Behavior, Canon-Typical Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon‐Typical Misogyny, Daddy Issues, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Idiot Friends to Idiot Lovers, M/M, Mac/Dennis eventually, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Kissing, Out Mac McDonald, Post-Season/Series 13, References to Miscarriage, Sex, Slow Burn, Swearing, Typical Gang behaviour, canon-typical fatphobia, crackfic, sex-shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 65,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23327416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatupGhouls/pseuds/WhatupGhouls
Summary: After Mac gets pregnant from a quick and dirty tumble with a stranger, Dennis sees this as an opportunity for him to help raise a new generation of super-humans. What he never counted on though, was somehow falling in love with the pregnant asshole.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly & Mac McDonald, Charlie Kelly & Mac McDonald & Dee Reynolds & Dennis Reynolds & Frank Reynolds, Mac McDonald & Dennis Reynolds, Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 92
Kudos: 86





	1. Who says Denial Is Not Just a River in Egypt?

**Author's Note:**

> These idiots can't even use the word Baby Daddy right! 
> 
> It's a weird crack fic that's been haunting me for weeks now so I needed exorcising somehow. I'll update tags as I go but expect usual patented Gang misbehaviour.

Dennis ought to have known Mac would be solely to blame for the complete and utter upheaval of his life. The start of the slow but significant tilt of his world began one morning in early December. Mac had thrown open the door to Paddy's, bounding across the threshold with a enthusiastic “Yooo”.

The remainder of the Gang was huddled around the edge of the bar, discussing something trivial with a life or death like intensity. On auto-pilot, Dennis grabbed a bottle of beer, popped the top and slid it towards Mac as he settled himself onto a bar stool. Mac, also responding with a much practiced reflex gratefully grabbed the beer and was about to take a swig before he twitched in realisation “oh shit, dude – I can't.”

“Can't what?” asked Dennis. Mac hadn't been here long enough to be asked to do something, but Dennis wasn't prepared to rule out the possibility of any of the Gang pre-emptively dodging work.

“The beer – I can't drink it”

There was a near audible snap as four heads swivelled to survey Mac with distrust.

“...and... why is that?” asked Dennis, carefully treading his way through the question as Mac pushed the bottle back across the bar top.

“Oh, cos I'm pregnant”

Dennis felt the answer was delivered far too nonchalantly for the subject. He blinked in irritation “I'm sorry?” he asked, hoping Mac would enlighten him.

“I'm pregnant, dude. Can't drink when you're pregnant”

“Never stopped me” muttered Dee, taking a poignant swig of her own beer.

Dennis looked across at Dee, Charlie and Frank. A small, amused smile starting to grow on his lips as he searched for other participants to get in on the joke. It became quickly apparent that Dennis was the only one who found the situation ridiculous.

“Congrats, man” said Charlie in a calm yet affable 'it's no big thing' tone. Frank and Dee made similar murmurs of well-ish wishes.

“You're pregnant? You. Pregnant?” Dennis persevered, a lone bastion of sanity in a topsy-turvy universe.

“Yup.”

“And by pregnant, you mean that you are...carrying a child. A fetus...a small cluster of cells that given time and conditions will, eventually, become a baby...” there was a beat as he let Mac consider the full extent of his words “that kind of pregnant?”

“...Yeah...”

Enough was enough “and what on Earth makes you think you're pregnant?”

“Well, these for starters” Mac rummaged around in the pockets of his cargo pants and dumped around 10 pregnancy tests onto the bar top.

“What the fu-why do you have those on you?!?” yelled Dennis, taking a rapid step away from anything Mac may have pissed on. Morbid curiosity drove him to lean in slightly to read over the results on the tests. Positive. Positive. Jesus...why did all of them show those damnable double-lines. Where did Mac get these?

“Hey, are you gonna keep 'em?” asked Charlie, sounding engaged for the first time in the conversation.

“Yeah, man” said Mac “Plus I don't know if it's twins yet, might only be one baby...”

“Nah dude, I meant the tests” Charlie nudged one of the plastic sticks towards him “I'll take 'em if you're done with them?”

Dennis was still frozen in his shocked plateau, arms raised in horror “Why...why would you want them, Charlie? They've been peed on!”

“Seems a shame to throw out perfectly good pregnancy tests” shrugged Charlie, depositing a couple of tests into the pocket of his jacket.

“Good point, Charlie” said Frank “Pass us one of those bad boys, will ya?”

A small strained, borderline unhinged laugh escaped from Dennis “Am...am I...on crack again?” he looked at each of the gang, his eyes imploring them to set the world right again, to make it make sense. No answers were forthcoming “Mac is saying he's pregnant....Charlie is collecting pregnancy tests....used pregnancy tests...I...is this....what!?!”

As Dennis was speaking, Mac had grown pale. He exhaled as he tried to stave off the urge to vomit. He'd expected Dennis to be a little more excited about his news. It had stung, to have such a big announcement be met with indifference at best and outright confusion at worst.

Dennis finally turned to look at Mac, anticipating the big reveal. The punchline to a poor joke. The raucous laugh of 'ahhhhh gotcha!' but it never came. Instead, Mac swallowed and belched into his fist “Hold that thought, dude – I gotta puke” he slid off the bar stool and hurried towards the toilets.

“Congrats again man!” cheered Charlie, raising his beer in celebration. But Mac had gone, the urge to vomit too pressing to respond to Charlie.

Dennis glanced around, unsettled and alone. There was a roaring in his ears, the noise drowning out the sound of Charlie and Frank debating the various uses for a pee-soaked pregnancy test. He stared across the bar, past Dee's giant bird head, his face slack.

He stayed that way for several seconds before he slammed his palms down on the bar top in anger and walked, briskly and purposefully towards the door, taking great care to ignore the retching coming from the bathroom.

\-----------------

Dennis decided the best way to deal with Mac's obvious, attention seeking lie was to ignore it. Ironically, he needed to treat Mac like a baby. Don't engage, don't acknowledge, don't encourage. Dennis was certain that after a few days of frosty silence and deliberate cold shouldering, Mac would fess up and admit that no, he wasn't in fact pregnant and yes, he was very sorry that he'd lied.

It was the perfect response.

Except, that didn't happen though.

Mac continued to not drink. He'd occasionally disappear, often mid-sentence to go throw up. Dennis spotted him, in quiet moments, smiling to himself, once even going so far as to hold a hand to his stomach like there was actually something in there.

Clearly, this punishment needed to be longer, harsher. Dennis cancelled movie nights. He drove to and from the bar solo, leaving Mac to navigate the bus system alone. He shut down any conversations Mac attempted, regardless of subject. But still....despite all of Dennis' efforts, Mac would not relent.

The facade persisted through Christmas and New Years, Mac steadfastly refusing any drinks regardless of how many times Dennis tried to catch him out. The dedication to the lie started to impress Dennis – Mac probably had the second shortest attention span out of the Gang after Charlie. Even things that were legitimate interest to him were abandoned as quickly as they were adopted, so for this act to continue on, uninterrupted and undeterred for weeks, was quite frankly astounding.

In mid-January Dennis felt the need to address matters head-on. He had been seething on the couch all evening, incredulous that Mac would defy him like this for so long. He was torn from his ruminations by the sound of Mac running across the apartment, focusing firstly on not vomiting everywhere and secondly, on getting somewhere where it was acceptable to vomit.

He listened to his room-mate make sounds comparable to that of a Frat house the morning after St Paddy's day before he turned off the television, which he hadn't been paying much attention to anyway. He carefully folded his arms across his chest and waited for Mac to emerge from the bathroom, hopefully having taken some time to brush his teeth first.

Eventually, Mac shuffled out of the bathroom, looking pale and tired. He moved as though he was oblivious to Dennis' expectant gaze that was tinged with irritation.

“Urggh” Mac gingerly sat down on the sofa, “This morning sickness is killin' me...”

“Mac, it's quarter to 11 at night.”

He shrugged “Well, I dunno, man. Babies can't tell time and...I keep some weird hours so...” he followed up his words with a further shrug.

Dennis levelled Mac with a stern stare “Mac, when are you going to drop this?”

“Drop what?”

“This...this pregnancy thing. It's ridiculous.”

Mac looked hurt “but it's true. I'm...I'm pregnant, dude.”

“It can't be” said Dennis, more to himself than to Mac “it's...it's....no, you can't be. It's insane” he twisted to look at Mac, who was sat beside him feeling sick and miserable. “How did this happen anyhow?”

“Oh, I banged a dude”

“Well obviously” snorted Dennis, before he stopped “What am I saying, no...it's not obvious – nothing about this situation is obvious. You can't be pregnant....” another thought occurred to him “Does....the father know? Have you told him?”

Mac scratched the back of his neck “Yeah – I mean, it wasn't a serious thing”. Dennis raised an eyebrow, compelling Mac to share further details “We banged in a porta-potty at the farmer's market” admitted Mac, with enough sense to look a little sheepish “We met on an app...and erm....I guess that's not really...nuclear family bullshit, y'know?”

“Well, you say that Mac but my mother was conceived in a porta-potty at the farmer's market”

“Really?”

“No! It's a disgusting place to make a baby. Just...terrible” Dennis stood up, intent on walking away from this conversation “So, let's just say for the moment that I believe you, which I don't and you're pregnant, which you're not-” there was a beat as he granted Mac a short holiday from his derision “....do it away from me. You may have sacrificed your financial and recreational freedom for the sake of a quick fumble in a small plastic cupboard that smells of the faeces of people seeking organic, locally grown produce...but I, on the other hand treasure my status as confirmed 'man about town' bachelor.” he walked towards his bedroom, feeling emboldened by the thought of regaining control of the situation.

So, you just do your...” he gestured vaguely towards Mac's stomach with his fingers “...thing, in a way that doesn't impact me...at all...and....yeah, we'll do just fine” he gave a rare, genuine smile, feeling that he'd accurately nipped that problem in the bud and he went to bed, leaving Mac alone with nothing but his nausea and a pining for a satisfactory human connection with his now sleeping room-mate.

\------------------

Dennis stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen early the next morning and almost immediately nearly walked on Mac. Not into - on. His room-mate was sprawled, full bodied on the kitchen floor, awake but very much in the way.

“Hey” said Mac, in the tone of a person not currently doing a half decent impression of a rug.

Dennis made a point of slowly, deliberately and grouchily stepping over him. This, whatever this might be was not something that Dennis felt he could face uncaffinated. He set about making a pot of coffee, sneaking occasional glances at Mac as he manoeuvred his way around him and the kitchen. Eventually, armed with a fresh cup of coffee he asked Mac, in the same clear and concise manner one would talk to a toddler having a tantrum “Mac, what are you doing on the floor?”

Mac raised his head a little, just enough to look Dennis in the eye “Oh, er – I wasn't sure if I was gonna pass out or throw up so I just kinda...lay here for a bit. To feel better...”

Dennis grumbled lightly as he took a sip of coffee. He could tell that Mac wanted Dennis to ask about how he was feeling. Was he feeling better? Did laying on the floor, in the middle of the kitchen in his room-mate's way make him stop feeling so sick? There was no way in Hell Dennis would be asking him that. He made to walk out of the kitchen when Mac called after him.

“I've got a hospital appointment today.”

“What for?” asked Dennis

“Dude, f-for the baby.” Mac was sitting up with a considerable degree of caution, not quite trusting the contents of his stomach to stay put “I'm gonna have lots of baby appointments over the next couple of months...”

Weeks of frustration boiled up inside Dennis. He slammed the coffee cup down on the dining table, sloshing black liquid on the table top “For FUCKS sake, Mac” he yelled “You are not pregnant!”

Dennis' mood was infectious as Mac began yelling too, his own set of vexations finding their voice “Why do you keep saying that? Why don't you believe me!” he lurched up onto his feet, reeling a little as the dizziness hit him “I have been telling you, time and time again man that I am having a baby and you're just not listening!”

“I'm listening, Mac” said Dennis, with a short, snide laugh “Oh I can't help but listen to you every time you puke. Jesus Christ, you're like, like the kid from the Exorcist. I keep waiting for your head to start spinning around!”

Mac gripped the edge of the kitchen counter tops, wanting nothing more than to go back to lying on the nice cold floor of the kitchen but he had too much skin in the game to walk away from this fight. He'd given Dennis space, as much as it tore him up inside to do so. He knew this was a huge change for both of them and Dennis would need time to reflect. Mac had known this from the second he'd read that first positive sign on the plastic stick in his hands. The problem was Dennis wasn't doing any reflecting – he was pushing Mac away, he was denying what was right there in front of him and Mac couldn't afford for Dennis to be slow in getting on-board.

“Why don't you believe me, man?” asked Mac, intending for the question to be direct and unavoidable, but instead it came out small and plaintive.

“Because it's ridiculous, that's why” said Dennis, gently drifting a fingertip across the small pool of coffee that had spilt on the table to avoid looking at Mac “It's a stunt, it's a...gimmick of sorts. 40 years of sexual repression and Catholicism-induced guilt and you're now proclaiming you're the Virgin Mary or some shit...”

Mac couldn't resist a grin “Aww c'mon man, you know I'm not a virgin, with girls or guys in fact...”

Dennis raised his head to stare at Mac, the awkwardness between them exacerbated by their heated exchange. “Come with me” said Mac, taking a step towards Dennis like he was approaching a wounded animal “To the hospital appointment. See for yourself...”

Seconds ticked by as Dennis considered this proposal with narrowed eyes. It was a sensible idea, there was no denying that. He relished the idea of ripping apart Mac's web of lies in front of horrified hospital staff and patients, his righteous mockery echoing down the sterilised corridors.

“If I go with you...” he said, making Mac cling onto each word he spoke “...do you promise....never to mention this again if I'm proven right?”

“Cross my heart, man” came the reply. Mac possessed the kind of certainty that only 12 positive pregnancy tests and 3 months of hormonal nausea could bring, so he had no issues agreeing to Dennis' terms.

“Okay then. Let's go.” said Dennis, striding towards his bedroom to get dressed.

It was only later, as he and Mac sat in the waiting room of the Obstetrics and Gynaecology at Jefferson Hospital that Dennis started to question the possibility that maybe he might need to entertain the notion that there could be a nugget of truth to Mac's claim. For starters, he had an appointment – the receptionist hadn't turned him away with a surly remark and an extravagant eye roll, like Dennis had hoped.

He pored over Mac's hospital appointment letter, scanning for a typo or a bit of janky formatting that would indicate a forgery. So far, nothing.

Mac was sat next to him, quiet but obviously tense. He was pulling on his fingers nervously, his eyes darting around the waiting room. Dennis joined in his people-watching.

“Gotta admit – I'm seeing a lot of pregnant women here, Mac”

“It's the baby department, due. It'd be weird if there weren't” Mac continued to shift and fidget in his seat, nervous energy coursing through him. He seemed ready to bolt at any second.

“You okay?” asked Dennis eventually, carefully folding up the appointment letter that he'd been unable to discredit.

“What? Oh yeah” Mac hadn't been listening all that carefully, lost in his own tumble of thoughts “Just....nervous y'know. Plus, I'm really not wild about hospitals.”

“Well, I don't think anyone likes hospitals, Mac. They're never anyone's favourite places to visit.”

“I dunno, man. Everyone's into one thing or another – gotta be someone out there that just fucking cream their jeans over going to hospital....”

Dennis raised an eyebrow “Really, Mac? You think there's someone out there who is...excited by these kinds of places?”

“Well, yeah”

“Who? Who in their right mind would be like that? Give me an example...”

Mac exhaled as he thought “I dunno...like, people who like germs?”

The conversation was brought to an abrupt halt as both men heard a name called across the waiting room. “Mr MacDonald?”

Mac was on his feet in an instance, even holding his hand up for good measure “That's me, I'm Mr MacDonald” he followed the white coated doctor (a lady, Dennis noted) out of the waiting room. Dennis let the pair walk a little away from him, grabbing some space to relish in the fact that this would be the last time he'd need to humour Mac before he could finally expose the deception that had dragged on all these weeks.

“If you'd both like to take a seat” said the doctor, smiling entirely too much for a woman who wasn't flirting. Or was she? Dennis was undecided.

Dennis grabbed the arm of the chair next to Mac and dragged it to the edge of the room. He sat down, subjecting the other two occupants of the room to an intense, expressionless stare. “I'll be observing” he explained coolly as the doctor looked towards Mac for an explanation “Please, go about your business – act like I'm not even here...”

Welcoming the opportunity to do just that, she turned to Mac “So, Mac – 11 weeks. How you feeling?”

With a growing feeling of horror, Dennis watched and listened as Mac and the lady doctor talked about conception dates, treatments for morning sickness, appointment schedules, blood tests - the works. The fingers that caressed Dennis' chin, completing his aloof and studious aura, trembled slightly and beneath his shirt, his heart started to rattle against his ribcage.

“Okay, lets check your vitals.”

Mac hopped up onto the gurney, for once his sleeveless t-shirt serving an actual honest to God purpose as the doctor secure a blood pressure cuff around his bicep. Dennis stared, dry mouthed with nerves as the doctor took his room-mate's blood pressure, temperature and pulse. Meticulous notes were made on official paperwork. As far as rackets go, this one was thorough.

Why wasn't the doctor saying anything? Why hadn't she cast Mac out into the hallway, berating him for wasting precious medical resources with this flight of fancy? Dennis contemplated this, turning scenario after scenario over and over in his head where the doctor confirmed what he was praying for...that this wasn't happening, that this wasn't real. He clung to these thoughts, unable to bring himself to even begin to contemplate what he might do if she sided with Mac.

By now, Mac was being instructed to lie-back on the gurney. He chanced a brief look at Dennis as he held the hem of his t-shirt up for the doctor to palpate his lower abdomen. He couldn't tell whether the sudden lurch of his stomach was due to the pressure from the doctor's fingertips or the look on Dennis' face.

“All done” said the doctor, cheerily as she slipped off her latex gloves. She waited for Mac to return to his seat, throwing a small smile to Dennis which went unacknowledged. “Everything is looking really good – vitals are all where we want them to be, baby is a good size for this stage of the pregnancy so let me-”

“What's the diagnosis, Doc?” asked Dennis.

The doctor stammered through the start of her reply “W-well, erm – he's pregnant of course, that's why he's got his appointment...”

“And you're sure of that?”

“Yes”

Dennis crossed and uncrossed his legs, agitated by the answer. Mac had the audacity to look embarrassed with him. “You're certain – before you answer, remember your credibility as a medical professional is at stake here. Do I need to go get a second opinion?”

“No, no you don't.” said the doctor, her tone growing colder with each word spoken “I am quite certain in my ability to accurately diagnose a pregnant man from blood tests and a physical examination.”

Drumming his fingers angrily against the arm of the chair, Dennis glared at her “Did someone put you up to this? Did someone give you money to mess with me?” his demand hung in the air like smoke. She opened her mouth to answer but Dennis cut her off “Did a short, troll-like old guy pay you to say that this man” he pointed at Mac, who actually flinched at the attention “is pregnant?”

“No”

“Are you sure?” Dennis was on his feet now, bearing down on the doctor, practically shaking with fury “Short, old fat guy, smells like expired meats and dirty socks? Did he give you money to lie about this?”

Another culprit came into Dennis' mind “No – it was a blonde, scrawny woman wasn't it? She paid you off – you took that money didn't you, from a woman with a face like a harpy and a voice like nails on a chalkboard?”

The doctor was nearing the end of her patience. In all her time working as a medical professional, she'd been on the receiving end of some outlandish and aggressive behaviour. She'd endured being called every curse word under the sun and even been hit with a few off-the-cuff creations...but this outburst was by far one of the strangest. She became aware that Dennis had stopped speaking, he was staring at her, wide-eyed and breathless “No” said said firmly “No-one paid me.”

Dennis was thrown. If it hadn't been Frank or Dee meddling with his life, causing him untold misery paying off a doctor to say Mac was pregnant then who was it? This didn't fit with the MO of a Charlie scam...

Somewhere in the recesses of Dennis' brain, the idea that maybe Mac had been telling the truth all along and now had medical evidence to prove it began to grow, slowly at first but gaining momentum as he tried and failed to find another logical reason why that wasn't true. Thankfully, with a sharp shake of his head, Dennis was able to subdue those thoughts. He grabbed Mac by the collar, hauling him bodily out of the chair, oblivious to the objections from both his room-mate and the doctor.

“Thank you for your time but we will be seeking a second opinion” he said, curtly as he led Mac out of the room in search of another, more reputable doctor.

He gave the most cursory of knocks on the office next door before barging in “You – diagnose this man” he said, giving Mac a nudge towards this new doctor – another woman, amazingly. This one was older though, perhaps with that age came competence.

Dennis watched with limited patience as this second doctor, after some gentle persuading from Mac ran through the same rigmarole of tests and arrived, unbelievably at the same conclusion. Mac was pregnant. Not wasting a single second more than he needed to on this second moronic quack of the day, Dennis stormed out of the office, beckoning for Mac to follow him.

In a corridor containing over seven doctors, Dennis visited each of them in turn, imploring them to give him the good news but being let down each time. If they didn't give him the answer he was now coming to dread, they were refusing to even examine Mac, wasting his time with bothersome questions like “Who are you?” and “How did you get in here?”

He was growing increasingly manic as he frantically threw open the door to another doctor's office, this one empty. He swore loudly before darting towards the next closest door.

“Dennis?” said Mac, genuinely concerned at the scene

“No, Mac” said Dennis, waving a hand a him, his fingers a pale blur with this burst of crazed energy “Leave it to me, okay. I-I'm going to sort this, I will get you a diagnosis – the right diagnosis!”

He grabbed the handle of the next room, throwing himself into office intent on drawing a line under this whole ugly mess. He was about to launch into his spiel, his amazingly persuasive speech to convince this doctor to examine Mac and conclude what had been the truth all along...Mac's hospital appointed doctor who they'd seen the first times looked at the pair with a weary expression.

Dennis recognised her face and screamed “FUCK!” as he slammed his hands against the door frame, momentarily bested by a universe who thinks its funny to send a pregnant Mac for him to deal with. “Fuck....” he says again, quieter this time, all his venom draining out of him. He collapsed into the same chair he'd occupied earlier, dragging a hand down his face.

“What do I need to do” asked the doctor, her words jabbing at Dennis like little pin pricks “to get you to believe your partner is pregnant?”

The venom was back, more hot and bitter than before “He's not my partner!” yelled Dennis. To her credit, the doctor didn't even flinch. Dennis contemplated her question, incensed that it fell on him to tell her how to do her job.

The doctor sighed and walked towards the medical cabinet at the end of the office. As she turned the key, she addressed Dennis over her shoulder “I am going to open this cabinet. On the top shelf, left hand side you will see stacks of pregnancy tests. All of them still factory sealed, they've never been opened or tampered with. I'm going to turn around and you can pick out any pregnancy test – pick whichever one you want but I won't look. That way, you can be sure I've not interfered at all with it. And, if Mac is comfortable doing so, he can take the test and you will see the results develop right before your eyes”. She allowed herself the smallest display of annoyance as she yanked the cupboard open. Mac gave her a small, wary nod in agreement “Does that sound like an agreeable plan to you, Mr Reynolds?”

His mouth twisted into a shape somewhere between a smile and a grimace “5 tests. If he pisses on five tests and all of them come out positive, I'll believe you....”

“One test” came the counteroffer.

“Three then.”

Ever a sucker for appropriate scientific testing, the doctor conceded to Dennis. He helped himself to three boxes of pregnancy tests from the cupboard, as well as a pill bottle of something that looked like it could be some fun. With meticulous care, he scrutinised each of the boxes carefully, checking for signs of tampering. Finally satisfied with the integrity of the tests, he carried them over to Mac, piling them into his arms.

“There's a bathroom down the -”

Dennis held up a hand to silence her “No – he's not leaving this room. He is going to take these tests here and I am going to watch...to ensure that there is zero opportunity for either of you to pull a fast one on me...”

“Mac, this is ludicrous – you don't need to do this” said the doctor.

Glancing between the two of them, each asking such very different things of him, Mac faltered. The look in Dennis' eyes was that of a man hunting down something elusive – he was fixated, obsessed even. Say Mac refused to take the tests, say he walked out of the doctor's office right now – would that be the end of the matter? No, course it wouldn't. Best just to do what Dennis says and get it over with.

“It's...it's fine” said Mac, trying to sound like he meant it “I'll do the tests”.

Incredulous, the doctor handed Mac a sample jar and jerked the thin curtain around the gurney to give Mac some shred of privacy whilst he urinated for his room-mate's satisfaction.

“Y'know, I had a dream like this once” said Mac, unzipping his pants.

“MAC!”

10 minutes and three positive pregnancy tests later, Dennis was the one laid out on the gurney. He was mumbling to himself, his eyes darting between the water stains on the same three ceiling tiles, trying and failing to process the days events. Mac and the doctor watched him as Dennis grappled with the news that he ought to have believed in all along.

“Is...is he going to be okay?” asked the doctor, her voice low so as not to rouse Dennis from this reflective trance.

“Oh, yeah” said Mac “He gets like this sometimes, when...stuff gets really stressful or we really annoy him...he'll snap out of it, eventually....”

“I have other patients to see....”

Mac cringed “Ah, yeah – sorry” he moved towards Dennis, whose hands were raised, twisting some unseen problem over and over. “We'll get out of your hair.” He gently tapped Dennis on the shoulder, causing a short pause in the fevered mutterings “C'mon dude – we gotta go...”

Dennis obligingly sat up and shuffled off the gurney, towards the door and out into the hallway.

“Here's a script for your pre-natal meds” said the doctor, scribbling on her prescription pad as quickly and as legibly as possible to bring this nightmare appointment to an end “and this...” she tore a further sheet from the pad and jotted down another number “is the number of a psych.”

Mac's eyebrows furrowed.

“For him” she said, waving the sheet towards the door. “And erm...good luck I guess...”

In his comatose state, Dennis hadn't managed to wander far. Mac guided him through the labyrinth of corridors, babbling excitedly but his enthusiasm being met with an impenetrable wall of silence. As the pair walked towards the car park, the full reality of the situation was hitting Dennis. It hung heavily from his shoulders like a duster; he felt adrift and brittle.

“Didn't I tell you, man?” said Mac, his joy was actually painful for Dennis to witness “I'm pregnant! I'm gonna be a dad...”

Dennis half-heartedly held his hands up, to trying to push back the wave of excitement that Mac was directing at him “I...you...perhaps...” every sentence he started died on his lips. He didn't have the words – Hell, he wondered whether he ever would. He abandoned the desire to talk it through, to argue in the face of cold, hard, pee-soaked logic. He walked away from Mac, in the complete opposite direction of the car, making it abundantly clear he needed to be left alone.

“Dennis? Dennis!” called Mac “You're my ride home, man!”

If Mac hadn't believed Dennis was out of sorts, it was undeniably obvious when the Land Rover car keys were thrown to him in a simple but clear instruction for Mac to drive himself home. He stared at the keys in his palm, thrilled at the prospect of driving Dennis' car but fretful about his friend. He yelled after Dennis one last time, hoping he'd do an abrupt 180 and the car ride home wouldn't be just Mac and a painful, empty silence. “O-okay then – take care, okay? Call me if you....need a ride or anything...”

Mac watched as Dennis continued to walk away, raising his hand only slightly to acknowledge the offer.

Dennis was going to go and get very drunk.


	2. Superhumans and Seagulls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis finds a way to make lemonade with the lemons his pregnant room-mate has dumped on him and Charlie pitches a new and exciting business venture involving feral seagulls.

Dennis' feet carried him along the sidewalk, searching out an open bar far enough away from the hospital to calm the rapid-fire fluttering in his chest. Time was lurching about for him, seconds stretching out into days before he snapped back into lucidness. He looked up, somewhat bewildered as a bar tender asked for the third time what he'd like to drink.

Without realising he'd taken a seat at the bar of some taproom on the corner of somewhere "Oh" Dennis glanced around, noting that the place was quite lively for a normal Tuesday afternoon thanks to Philadelphia's lackadaisical approach to moderate alcohol intake. It was before 1 in the afternoon, so that usually meant beer but the problem Dennis was drinking to cope with called for stronger stuff.

"Whiskey" he said "Two whiskies, doubles..." he added a "please" almost as an afterthought as the last thing he needed right now was to be cut-off due to a perceived lack of manners.

He zoned out again, the hubbub of the bar drowning into white-noise. An indeterminable amount of time later and with a small note of surprise, he saw that the bar tender had placed two double-whiskies in front of him. He threw the first one back in a single desperate gulp, gagging as the ice cube hit the back of his throat. The whiskey was cheap, bottom shelf stuff for sure – it tasted vaguely familiar and he wondered if they served the same rough stuff at Paddy's, watered down of course.

The quick hit of alcohol had worked though - liquor flowed through the wheels and cogs of his mind, firing up all his synapses. He cradled the second drink, gazing down into the glass of amber liquid as he finally let his thoughts wander, unfettered, for the first time that day. Armed with space and intoxicants, Dennis was now prepared to process this news.

Mac. Pregnant.

Mac was pregnant.

Whilst the notion unnerved him, he allowed it sit there, occupying space in his head. He felt like he was examining this concept, carefully weighing up what this meant for him. A baby would cause huge upheaval to the established routine of their lives. A fresh emotion came barrelling into view – irritation. How could Mac have been so irresponsible?

Of course, he and Dennis had had those 'what if?' conversations over the years, hypotheticals about marriages and christenings but those conversations ended almost as quickly as they began. They were young. They were still in their prime. They owned a bar. Who would want to give that away for a wedding band and a booster seat?

Unwillingly, Dennis was forced to remember that he was now on the wrong side of 40. Oh, true he had the face and body of a man half his age...but the numbers were against him. People they'd known and grown away from over the years had taken those steps, made the sort of commitments that Mac and Dennis had mocked: mortgages, weddings, children, life insurance, 401(k) contributions, ride-on lawnmowers.

Losers.

Dennis took a small sip of his second whiskey before deciding that actually, a much bigger sip was needed.

The bar tender who had served him walked over to relieve him of the first whiskey glass, still cold but very much empty. Dennis caught his eye "...my room-mate's pregnant..." he explained, giving an answer to a question that had never been asked.

He rubbed his closed eyelids with the tips of his fingers, suddenly feeling tired and overwhelmed as thought after thought came flying at him, all clamouring for his consideration and attention.

How could Mac have let this happen? He couldn't have a baby – the guy could barely take care of himself. Dennis was certain that without his careful guidance, his advice and strict instructions Mac would probably be standing in front of an oil drum fire next to Cricket, homeless and hapless.

Babies needed lots of things. They demanded time, effort, concentration, breast-milk - Dennis was far from convinced Mac was capable of providing any of those things.

Mid-way through his third whiskey, Dennis' critiques of his pregnant friend became a little more forgiving. Yes, Mac was a feckless idiot with poor anger management control most of the time...but he was resilient. His sturdy genetics would at least give the kid a fighting chance of not being a huge whuss.

Mac was nothing if not hardy. Dennis laughed lightly to himself as that thought went tottering off on it's own. Undeniably, Mac was pretty robust...but he was no Charlie Kelly – if and when Charlie made a baby, you'd better believe that little fucker would be bomb-proof.

This whole conundrum was uncharted waters for Dennis. He'd had some interactions with children in the past. Well, one child - Brian Junior. Despite flying half-way across the country for the kid, Dennis had never really as grown attached as he'd have liked to. The child was directionless and bland, responding hardly at all to any of Dennis' attempts to build him into the kind of boy who would one day become the type of man the world needed.

Dennis blamed Mandy for this – she'd done her best God bless her but her best was, quite frankly, garbage. Had he been there during the crucial formative months of pregnancy and post-birth, Dennis was adamant that could have begun the process of moulding Brian Junior into a pinnacle of human potential. Instead, Mandy's haphazard parenting had caused her child to be nothing more than a glassy-eyed 3 year old who considered Sesame Street and nose-picking to be two of life's pleasures that can only be enjoyed simultaneously.

Perhaps, thought Dennis as he caught the bar tenders eye to order a fourth drink, he would help Mac. With his careful tutelage, he could help Mac build and raise a baby that was strong, intelligent and aggressive but in the kind of charismatic way that everyone respected. Dennis would teach the child about leadership, about sophistication and fine tastes. Of course, when they're old enough, he would also pass on everything he knew about the art and ugliness of seduction. The child's education would be rich and varied, equipping him (or her...but hopefully him) with the raft of skills needed to win this game of chance called life. And if they couldn't win, they'd at least know how to cheat and get away with it.

A fourth drink appeared, served with the kind of hesitancy associated with a patron being 3 double-whiskeys deep before 2 in the afternoon. Dennis raised his glass in good cheer, feeling a little lightheaded now "M'best friend is pregnant" he said, enjoying how it sounded "and I...am going to help him..." The bar tender was not paid enough to care.

Yes – that is what he'd do. He'd help Mac.

It was a win-win. He would help carefully craft the next generation of Philidelphians, their combination of brain, brawn and boldness making them as formidable as they will be fascinating. As he was only helping though, Dennis would be free to drop it all as and when he wanted, abandoning diapers and feeding times to chase down a flirtatious cashier or dine at an upscale restaurant.

The whiskey that was sitting uneasily in his empty stomach was bringing to life some feelings Dennis did not believe could have existed before today. 'This is an excellent idea' said the whiskey, sloshing away under his rib-cage 'the only drawback is your excellent genes are going to waste!'

Dennis set his drink down on the bar top harder than he'd intended. The whiskey was correct – as brilliant as this plan was, the obvious flaw was that Mac had taken the seed of another. Dennis had tried not to give too much thought to the man who'd impregnated Mac in a chemical toilet. Even when he was trying to jeer at the idea of Mac being pregnant, thinking about that stranger and imagining the noises Mac made in their plastic sex-nest made his ears feel hot.

Now that he was sipping steadily towards being properly drunk, the images of that tryst formed in his head, painfully graphic. Mac's eyes closed mid-moan, one hand steadying himself against the plastic wall of the porta-potty as he grinds in the arms of this good-time guy, a faceless farmer's market attendee searching for a quick tumble before he goes off to purchase artisanal cheese.

Ultimately though, it wouldn't matter, Dennis told himself as he knocked back the remainder of his drink to flush away the thoughts of Mac mid-conception. Dennis wasn't worried. Oh no. No, his baby would be fine regardless of where the second set of DNA came from.

His stomach prickled, not from the whiskey but from the realisation he'd just called it 'his baby'. After all, it was the child-rearing that really mattered. As a pair, Mac and Dennis had a proven track record – there had been countless schemes, rackets, events and scams where they'd partnered up against an unfair world and they'd made that world their bitch.

Look out parenthood – Mac and Dennis are going to make you their next bitch.

Reinvigorated by liquor and a new perspective, Dennis threw a 10 dollar bill down the on the bar top to cover his $30 dollar tab and slid off the bar stool, a little unsteady on his legs. He strode back to their apartment, emboldened by determination and dare he say it, excitement.

"Mac" he cried, as he shouldered open the door to the apartment, stepping inside with a small wobble as the four whiskeys inside his empty stomach made their presence felt "Mac!"

Mac who had been asleep on the sofa bolted upright, the hair on one side of his head comically sticking up every which-way "wha-?" he managed, disorientated by the interruption.

"Mac, I've been thinking" said Dennis, hurrying over to him.

"And drinking by the looks of it..."

Dennis waved the observation away "I process my feelings through alcohol, Mac, you know that" he noted the blanket Mac was lay under and realised he'd woken him up "Were you asleep? Mac it's like-" he checked his watch "4.30pm?"

"I was tired, dude" Mac gave a big grin as he propped himself up on his elbows "I'm makin' a baby"

Dennis was pleased Mac had handed him a natural path into his speech "I'm glad you mentioned that" he said "cos I want in."

Unfortunately, Mac was being obtuse "You...want in on...what?"

"The baby" said Dennis "I'm going to help you raise it."

"For real?" Mac's tone bubbling with excitement but he must have quickly remembered that you don't get something for nothing, especially from Dennis Reynolds "...why?"

Dennis had expected this. Mac was brilliant at the initial buy-in of an idea but had a bad habit of thinking things through. He'd then start poking holes in a plan, going off instructions and meddling with what ought not to be meddled with. Dennis needed to get his friend's complete and uncontested support from the start.

"Mac, do understand what has presented itself to us here? Do you see what an amazing opportunity has fallen in your lap, quite literally?"

"a...baby?"

Dennis snapped his fingers at Mac "Yes. A baby. Something new and untainted. It's a blank canvas, the blueprint for...the perfect human." The slight frown on Mac's face meant he was carefully listening to Dennis' words.

"Think about it, Mac – you possess a hardy constitution, don't you? You're solidly built. I've seen you bounce back from things that would have killed a lesser man. Who else could gain and lose 60 pounds in 3 months and suffer zero ill-effects? No-one, just you Mac MacDonald."

His speech was gaining momentum now. Dennis was fired-up, his words spurring him forward. He could see Mac was getting swept away by the spiel too, he'd sat up and was watching Dennis intently, his eyes growing bright and wide.

"Now that sort of body composition on it's own is useful...but imagine if I was there, raising your child with you, teaching them how to think fast, how to take charge, how to make the world bow to them like the God they are..." He paused, enjoying the sound of his self-assuredness as it bounced off the walls of the apartment "Imagine a child with your ferocity, with your scrappy determination and also my decisiveness, my tenacity, my taste in shirts..."

He paused to let Mac imagine it.

"Kid'd be unstoppable..." concluded Dennis.

"Holy shit, dude" whispered Mac, dumbfounded but delighted by Dennis' change of heart and seemingly genuine compliments.

"Mac, together you and I could raise the greatest children known to man. You could be the life-giver to a whole new race of near-perfect humans..." he held out his palms to Mac, allowing his pure, unselfish sincerity to show "Are you in?"

Mac was on his feet in an instant "Fuck yeah, man!" The pair exchanged a high-five, giving the impression that a goal had been scored rather than an agreement to assume responsibility for a dependent.

Dennis was pumped. As much as he loved the build-up of a good speech, feeling the intensity of the situation increase with each word uttered, he loved the aftermath. He stood in front of Mac, revelling in his verbal victory, feeling indestructible.

"We need to celebrate" he said at Mac, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet with similar energy. "What do you want to do? You name it, we'll do it – co-parents, baby!"

"Co-parents!" yelled Mac before he actually gave thought to Dennis question. His pregnant body made alternating demands for food, sleep and sexual satisfaction. He'd had a nap so that was all good; he didn't feel capable of asking Dennis for a bit of fooling around, not now at least. So that left one thing. "I kinda wanna get something to eat..."

"Yes, God – of course. Nutrients" agreed Dennis "You need nutrients – what do you want to eat?"

Mac hesitated slightly "I kinda wanna get a chocolate cake and like, hollow out the middle and fill it with lo-mein and just...eat a slice of that..."

Dennis grimaced "Mac, that...that sounds disgusting"

"It's what I want though..."

"Ah, fuck it" conceded Dennis, determined not to let anything sour his generous mood "Let's get you a chocolate cake and some Chinese food, buddy."

A short while later, the pair walked into Paddy's pub.

"Gather round, idiots" Dennis yelled as he crossed the sticky floor "Me and Mac have an announcement to make."

Behind the bar Dee muttered "oh boy", knowing a riled-up Dennis when she saw one.

"Where's Charlie?" asked Dennis, "He's going to want to hear this." Hearing his name, Charlie emerged from the basement and placed a cat carrier on top of the bar.

"Okay, guys" Dennis addressed the Gang "Now listen carefully because I am only going to say this once-"

"Charlie, why do you have a seagull in a cat carrier?"

God Fucking Dammit.

Inside the cat carrier, the seagull squawked and beat its wings angrily against the walls of the plastic box. Everyone, including Dennis all stared at it and Charlie in confusion.

"Oh that?" said Charlie, "Well I had this idea, y'see. Y'know how there's always those guys at Medieval Fairs and shit with eagles..." he set about undoing the cat carrier doors and slowly reached his hand inside "and they make the eagles fly around and...and catch dead mice and stuff..."

He glanced up to check everyone was still listening, which they were. What Charlie was saying didn't make a whole lot of sense but they were listening. "Well I thought that 'that's kinda cool, I need to get in on that' ...but eagles are expensive, man and no-one was selling one on Craigslist and then..." he chuckled to himself "and then I thought, well, eagles...that's already been done...I should do summat different..."

Charlie struggled to extract the very vocal bird from the cage. Eventually, after some tussling, he held it under his arm, pinning it in place as it thrashed about unhappily. Charlie looked more dishevelled than usual, his jacket covered in white bird shit. His face and hands had some fresh cuts that looked like the seagull had managed to get in a couple of good nips before it was forced into the cat carrier.

"Then it hit me" he continued "No-body out there is doing seagull shows! No-one...I can dominate the market...so I went to the docks and I caught a seagull" he went to stroke the bird with a finger and narrowly avoided receiving another bite "this guy was real difficult to catch so I just know he's going to respond well to the training, he's very smart..."

The seagull took the opportunity to scream and shit at the same time.

"Charlie" said Dee "No-one is going to see a bird show with a barely trained feral seagull..."

"I'd watch the shit outta that show" said Mac, opening the lid on the cake box and grabbing a handful of cake clumsily filled with noodles.

"Whoa, hey" said Charlie, peering into the box "whatcha got there?"

"Choc-lo-mein cake" answered Mac, his mouth full "You want some?"

"Sure, man – I'll have a slice or a scoop or whatever..." Charlie gently pushed the bird back into the cat carrier and grabbed a hunk of the cake, giving no regard to the fact he'd been holding a filthy dock bird just seconds earlier.

Dennis took a deep breath to steady himself, his eye twitching over the fact Charlie and his seagull had stolen his thunder.

"What I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted with talk of seagull shows was that I have offered to help Mac raise his love-child."

"Co-parents, bitch!" yelled Mac, throwing in a thumbs up for good measure.

Dee crossed her arms "You?" she said, raising an eyebrow at her twin brother "You are going to help Mac raise a child?"

"Yes" came the smug reply. Dennis wandered around the edge of the bar, helping himself to a bottle of beer.

"Dennis, you're the most selfish person I know-"

"Thank you."

"Not a compliment..." Dee continued with her line of questioning "why would you want to raise a baby with Mac – it's not even yours..." her eyes grew wide "...or is it? Ohhhh my God, did you two finally smash dicks?"

Ignoring her crudely phrased reference to him and Mac having sex, he replied "Alas, no. My DNA is not involved in this particular pregnancy but with child-rearing these days, Dee, it all comes down to the nurturing. I can raise this child to be so much better than your average slack-jawed dullards that are awash in our society. I will teach the child to be like me, I'll teach them how to have my authority and my sharp wits..." his bitch of a sister had the gall to look unconvinced "Mac is genetically predisposed to be hot-headed and reckless so any child of his will no doubt be the same...but I can nurture that wrath, help them channel their fiery tempers into something deliberate and dangerous. This child will use their extreme physical presence and intellectual ability to intimidate and dominate their foes..."

Dee gazed at her brother, thoroughly unimpressed as he pressed on "Mac and I are raising the next generation in human evolution. Together, we'll help create a person that is stronger, faster, smarter, better than before. The new age...of superhumans..."

"The mother of your new master race is eating chocolate cake and noodles with his bare hands next to a guy who wants to perform bird shows with an untrained seagull..."

Dennis glanced towards Mac and Charlie who were happily nattering away in their own little bubble, making steady progress through the choc-lo-mein cake. The image did not quite fit the vision Dennis had spent time and care describing.

"We have sometime before the baby comes" he admitted, letting Dee win this one.

Dee's victory over her brother was short-lived as she clocked sight of the cat carrier. "Charlie, where's the seagull?"

The other four heads swivelled to look at the now empty cat carrier, its door wide open. All of them began to cautiously look around the bar, praying not to spot a flash of white feathers out of the corner of their eye.

"Oh shit" muttered Charlie. From behind them, came a loud piercing scream and the flap of wings.

"OH SHIT!"


	3. Your Choice: Slow Flow or Regular Flow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Dennis realise that Dee has no motherly instincts whatsoever and Charlie shares a long-held passion to an unimpressed audience.

"Have you read these?" asked Dennis, frowning at the variety of pregnancy pamphlets in his hands as he walked towards Mac who'd been trying to grab a quick nap in one of the booths.

"Huh? Oh yeah, dude" he lied, sitting upright.

Dennis could spot a Mac-lie a mile off "Really?" he asked, raising a single, skeptical eyebrow.

"Yeah..." Mac climbed out of the booth and headed towards the bar, hoping Dennis wouldn't pursue this line of inquiry. The look on his room-mate's face confirmed otherwise "I mean" admitted Mac, with a note of contriteness "I perused them..."

"...perused them?"

Mac felt compelled to drop the act "I looked at the pictures, okay? Y'happy now?" he huffed and continued searching about the bar. Admittedly, there was only so much information one could take in from a stock photo of a pregnant woman.

"I never realised how complicated making a baby was..." said Dennis, turning his attention back to the leaflets on diet, gentle exercises and nipple sores.

"Nothin' complicated about _makin'_ a baby" said Man, grinning broadly "that's just biology, dude" He threw in a hip thrust for good measure, grabbing a handful of olives and then cherries from the fruit tray on the bar top.

"Don't be an idiot, you know full well what I mean..." Dennis flicked at the leaflet on healthy eating during pregnancy "I never knew there were so many things you couldn't eat — I mean, some are just obvious - no booze, no drugs...but no shellfish...no soft cheeses...no raw eggs..."

Mac walked back towards Dennis, carrying a can of whipped cream "isn't soft cheese just...melted cheese?"

"No, it's that fancy stuff from France."

"Ugh — gross. Hard pass."

Dennis glanced up just as Mac was about to squirt a stream of whipped cream into his mouth direct from the canister. He looked peaky "You feel alright?" asked Dennis.

Mac paused "yeah, man — feeling great today."

"No...sickness or anything?" Dennis eyed the canister with trepidation, certain that a generous mouthful of whipped cream for breakfast didn't appear on any 'diet during pregnancy' health publications.

"Nah — I don't get it every day...it comes and it goes" Mac fired a stream of aerated dairy into his mouth followed a handful of the cherries and olives mixture "and sometimes I just get sick" he said thickly.

"...can't imagine why..." said Dennis, deadpan.

As Mac sat back down in the booth, Dennis called across to his sister who was busy reading a magazine in order to avoid a customer "Hey, Dee — how come we never saw you do any of this stuff?"

"What stuff?" she clocked sight of the pamphlets spread across the booth table as she walked towards the pair "Oh my god" she laughed "you losers are actually reading those things?"

"Of course we are, Dee" spat Dennis "Babies obviously require a lot of care and preparation, me and Mac do not want to go into this thing half-cocked."

Dee snorted, obviously amused. When it became apparent that Mac and Dennis refused to get in the joke, she elaborated "It's funny — the only reason you're needing to do this in the first place is because Mac got _full_ -cocked"

"Oh gross. Dee, grow-up."

"Disgusting." agreed Mac, helping himself to another winning combination of cream-olives-cherries.

"Whatever..." tutted Dee "that was hilarious..." she picked up one of the leaflets off the tabletop "and to answer your question, _Dennis_ , I just made my own judgment calls — I mean, it's not like these are rules..." she dropped the leaflet back down like it was mildly offensive "just guidelines..."

" _Strict_ guidelines, Dee."

"Yeah and not to be a dick about it-" began Mac, before Dee interrupted him, tilting her head to stare at him coldly.

"And yet you are..." she said, in a low tone.

"Shut up.I mean, it wasn't your baby though — you were growing it for Carmen and her husband...shouldn't you have tried to take care of it the best you could whilst it was, y'know...in you?"

Dee's mouth dropped open in outrage as she set about defending herself "I did take care of it, Mac. I was a great surrogate...but" she sucked on her teeth "I also didn't think the occasional glass of wine or plate of sushi was going to be the end of the world, y'know? I mean, why should I put _my_ life on hold for 9 months just because I'm the one hatching their ankle-biter..."

Mac and Dennis wore matching expressions of horror.

"Oh c'mon" she yelled "It's not like I was 100% responsible for how fucked up that kid could be, anyhow — Carmen provided the sperm, some rando provided the egg — me? I was just the incubator..." she folded her long arms and shrugged "so long as the kid was born with all its limbs, I knew they couldn't sue..."

"... Wow..." muttered Dennis "that is... _chilling_..."

"Just...awful" said Mac, in a similar tone of disgust before he took after squirt of whipped cream to make himself feel better about what he'd just been forced to listen.

"Yeah, whatever dickwads — enjoy reading up on the benefits of pre-natal yoga" she flicked the leaflet in question towards Mac and sloped off, smirking.

The men sat in silence for a few seconds, each one not quite believing what they'd just heard.

"That woman has _zero_ maternal instincts whatsoever..." said Dennis, eventually.

"I know, right!?!" said Mac.

"I'm surprised that Carmen's baby even made it out of the delivery room — I wouldn't put it past Dee to have consumed it for nutrients..."

Mac suppressed a small shudder and instinctively covered his stomach with a protective hand.

"New rule" said Dennis "if ever either of us are second-guessing what to do during this pregnancy, we think about what Dee would do...and do the exact opposite — plan?"

"Plan."

Dennis slid a couple of the leaflets towards Mac "you get started on those and I'll read up on..." he read the title aloud "the dangers of whooping cough...oh, how fun!" he concluded, sarcastically.

Mac blew out a long, exasperated breath as he considered the pages and pages of information before him. He wordlessly raised the canister of whipped cream to his mouth and took another gulp to steady his nerves. Dennis made a note to cut him off at the next squirt.

"Y'know what the worse part is?" said Dennis, opening up his allotted reading material "Dee's half-cocked, full-cocked joke was actually pretty good..."

"Dude, it was hilarious" admitted Mac, "I've gotta use that in the future."

"I mean, we'll never give her the satisfaction..."

"Fuck no."

The pair gave each other a small, thin smile before turning to the leaflets spread between them, both feeling way out of their depth but unable to admit it.

\----------------------------------

A couple of hours later, Dennis and Mac were walking through the park with a Charlie in tow. Dennis had insisted Mac spend some time outside — mostly because it was the first day of half-decent sunshine that Philly had seen and Dennis was hoping to get a good base tan going on face, neck and forearms....but also because he'd just read about the benefits of fresh air and gentle exercise in a handy 4-page leaflet.

Dennis had brought Charlie along as the little guy was like an excitable chihuahua — he could be insufferable if he wasn't even given a short run around a local green space, a place to burn off some of that aggressive energy.

Unfortunately for Mac, within moments of stepping foot in the park his stomach finally settled on the age-old question of how much whipped cream with cherries and olives is too much and he found himself throwing up onto the grass, holding a tree to steady himself. This was not the first time he'd thrown up in a park, nor did he think it would be the last...

Dennis and Charlie stood guard, trying to block out the litany of disgusting noises coming from their friend. One woman stopped and stared at Mac, her nose wrinkling in disgust before she hurried her children ahead, eager to put as much distance between them and the vomiting man as possible.

"Oh fuck you, lady." Dennis yelled at her back of her expensive, this-season coat as she scurried away "the guy's got morning sickness, want to try having a little sympathy, you heartless bitch?"

"Yeah!" joined in Charlie, misjudging the tone and the severity of the heckling, "you think you're too good to puke in the park? Eh?! FUCK YOU, LADY! I'll puke right now, fuck you — I'll do it..."

Charlie placed his hands on his knees and began to retch, his eyes fixated on the retreating figure of the woman.

Dennis gave Charlie a gentle shove, just forceful enough to stop him mid-freak out "Charlie, c'mon. Don't do that — you'll puke and that'll make me puke so just, just drop it okay?"

Charlie conceded "Fine dude, whatever — I mean, it was your fight so..." he shrugged as he trailed off.

Minutes ticked by, Mac hunched over by the tree retching miserably with Dennis and Charlie checking in on him every so often.

"Man" said Charlie, hands on hips "I haven't seen Mac throw up this much since..." he squinted as he tried to remember "New Years, was it? 2011? With-with the Jägermeister?" From the trees, Mac retched at the mere mention of the name.

"Oh my God, yes!" said Dennis.

"Y'remember?"

There was a pause before "... No." Dennis' mind raced for a single lucid memory from that night and came up empty.

"Me neither..." admitted Charlie, as he gazed out over the park, his eyes growing distant and haunted "Like, I try to think about that night and all I feel is like, dread" he gestured towards his chest, fingers twirling around uncertainly "dread — alllll up in here."

Dennis nodded before he called across the grass "Hey, Mac — we'll meet you by the coffee cart okay? Come find us when you're feeling better..."

Mac gave a weak thumbs-up, too preoccupied with his insides intent to be on the outside.

The walk to the coffee cart wasn't far but Dennis and Charlie took their time, Dennis enjoying the springtime sunshine and Charlie enjoying a captive audience.

"Now, the next big question y'gotta ask is whether you go for slow-flow rubber nipples or the standard flow — now me, I'd shell out for the slow-flow every time and here's why-"

Dennis was quickly coming to realise that everyone had an opinion on pregnancy and childbearing, but none more so than childless men. He walked, the incessant babble from Charlie providing a unique soundtrack to his stroll out in search of caffeine.

"and that's before we even address the _obvious_ benefits of rubber over silicone, I mean, it's not even really a contest man..."

"Charlie, I need to stop you there because I'm compelled to ask....why the hell do you know so much about goddamn rubber nipples?"

Charlie shrugged, irked that his flow had been interrupted. Dennis found this answer lacking "you're a childless man in your 40s — it's weird you know as much as you do, quite frankly..."

"Well" said Charlie, breaking out a few agitated noises from his repertoire "It's my hobby, dude. It's my passion, so...so I know stuff, yeah..."

"Your hobby?" Dennis rounded on Charlie, perplexed.

"Yeah!"

"Since when?"

"...since always!" said Charlie, his voice and hackles raised in irritation.

Dennis scoffed "Charlie, I have known you for...years, decades even and never once have I ever heard you mention this hobby. Ever." he shrugged in emphasis "Even in passing...because, Charlie....if you had mentioned your hobby about researching various types of rubber nipples for baby bottles...we'd be having this exact conversation that we're having....right now...because it would be _news_ to me!"

Charlie huffed, deliberately looking elsewhere in the park to show Dennis how little he cared "whatever, man — I mean...you don't listen to me sometimes but it's cool..." he went on to make a little 'tsk' sound before muttering "I mean.... I listen to _you_ but...whatever..."

Dennis ignored him and put in his order at the coffee cart "Oh and can you put a rubber nipple on the cup of _his_ " he asked the coffee vendor, nodding pointedly at Charlie "because he's a big fan of rubber nipples apparently..."

"I'm not a fan" clarified Charlie, grabbing at his coffee in agitation "I'm an enthusiast!"

"Big difference" muttered Dennis, paying for and picking up the two other cups. Whilst standing in a frosty silence with Charlie, Dennis spotted Mac walking towards him. His room-mate was looking very tired these days, his cheekbones a little more pronounced than usual. Despite how awful he looked, Mac managed to give Dennis and Charlie a small, genuine smile as he joined them.

"There's my guy!" said Charlie, his foul mood over rubber nipples forgotten.

Dennis offered Mac a cup, which was refused with a firm shake of the head.

"Ugh, God" said Mac, still feeling sick "no coffee."

"Its ginger tea" said Dennis, pushing the cup back towards Mac "for your stomach..."

Mac's face broke into a wide smile as he accepted the tea from Dennis.

"So how you feelin', bud?" asked Charlie as the trio continued their way around the park, determined not to let a little light difference of opinion and heavy vomiting spoilt their outing.

Mac sighed heavily "It's like being hungover but with none of the fun of getting drunk the night before..."

"Jesus...." muttered Charlie, with Dennis making similar noises of sympathy.

"Like I'm nauseous all the time, I'm dehydrated and just want to sleep" said Mac, before taking a cautious sip of tea "but then, my body'll be all 'hey you know what be great right about now? Double-bacon cheeseburger' and I'll get one and I just know I'm gonna regret it in like 10 minutes but I do it anyway, just to not feel like total shit for 10 minutes...."

Despite not being the most caring group, Dennis and Charlie managed to look sympathetic enough.

"And I need to pee" continued Mac, amazed at how many complaints about his pregnant body he'd been holding back "like, all the time — I'm worse than Dee at the movies. Every 20 minutes like clockwork, I gotta piss."

"Y'know why that is" said Charlie, obviously excited to be the voice of reason on another topic "the baby is peeing...and you're needing to pee that out, on top of your normal urination..."

Mac considered that with a small frown "Holy shit, Charlie — I think you're right..."

"What?" said Dennis "No, that's not — no!"

"I'm right, dude" said Charlie, bristling at the second dressing-down from Dennis in a day. "You don't think babies pee? Cos they pee, Dennis. They pee and I'm right on this!

"No, you're not Charlie."

"I am too."

Dennis pinched the bridge of his nose as the three men continued walking "Charlie — there are a number of things I will admit that you are an expert on..." he listed them off on his fingers "rats...the best wood glue to get a decent buzz off....how much bleach can you accidentally ingest before _needing_ to go to the emergency room...." he paused "but babies? Pregnancy? No, Charlie — you are not an expert on those and Mac cannot afford to let you fill his head with nonsense! Right, Mac?"

Silence.

"Mac?"

Still, the question went unanswered. Irked at needing to chase for a response, Dennis turned to his room-mate, only to see Mac had stopped in his tracks and was looking out across the park with those damnable puppy eyes he'd wear up sometimes.

It was the playground.

With a lurch of his stomach, Dennis realised that he kids playing on the equipment, carefully watched by parents and guardians alike represented a future that was about to come true very soon for the pair of them. Dennis caught Mac's eye, wondering whether the same small flicker of fear and excitement had hit him too.

Even Charlie had appreciated what they were seeing. He laughed lightly and pointed to a 4-year old who'd clambered his way to the top of the climbing frame and was now stood, arms thrown wide as he hollered in victory "oh hey....it's a lil Mac!"

The trio stood there, watching in awe at what awaited them, the sound of laughter and crying echoing in their ears. Dennis suddenly came to his senses.

"Okay, we need to go" he said, ushering Mac and Charlie back the way they came "I just realised we're three grown men staring at kids on a playground — let's get outta here, scram. Move, dammit!"


	4. Face Covered, Junk Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac would rather lift a 150-pound keg than have a one-on-one conversation with Dee. Meanwhile, talk of a metal group overshadows Mac and Dennis' ultrasound appointment.

For Dennis and Mac, the next week was uneventful. The morning sickness had abated, mostly due to Mac listening to his body when it threatened him with 'one more bite of that and I'll make you puke'. Aside from the no drinking, their lives were relatively unchanged and Dennis would occasionally forget all about his roommate's condition, only to suddenly remember when the universe threw a subtle or not-so-subtle reminder in his path.

If Dennis would sometimes forget that Mac had a baby on board (quite literally), then the rest of the Gang were going about in a state of near-complete obliviousness. Charlie would automatically open up a bottle of beer for Mac. Dee would snidely ask why Mac was whinging about being tired when he did jackshit all day. Frank would just flat-out never recall, acting like it was the first time he was hearing about this whenever the topic came up.

It wasn't so much that the Gang wasn't interested....but it was that it didn't immediately affect them so they weren't going to waste a chunk of precious memory on remembering it.

Perhaps most frustratingly for Dennis was how often Mac would forget about being pregnant. For all Mac's moaning about the effects the pregnancy was having on his body, Dennis had needed to grab him by the arm to stop him 'borrowing' a kid's skateboard in the park to do an ollie over a park bench.

"Jesus, Mac" Dennis had cried, needing to physically hold Mac back from his desire to show up an 11-year-old "No, you can't!"

"Why not?"

Dennis had gestured to Mac's stomach, astounded by the question. Mac took a couple of seconds to clock on "Oh...yeah" he placed a hand on his stomach "probably shouldn't, right?"

Imagine Dennis' alarm when one morning Charlie had said "deliveries here" and then followed it up with "Mac's on it..."

This was another one of those instances where Dennis suddenly remembered something very important, very quickly - the realisation as to why maybe Mac shouldn't be hauling around kegs and boxes of liquor bottles interrupting his thoughts like a record scratch.

"What?"

Charlie glanced up from where he sat at the bar, clearly befuddled at the tone "I said Mac's handling the delivery..."

"He's pregnant, Charlie" said Dennis, storming towards the back door leading to the alley behind the bar "Are you out of your fucking mind?!?"

Mac had just handed the clipboard back to the delivery driver and was about to pick up the first keg when Dennis reached him.

"Stop" Dennis demanded.

"Oh, hey man – I'm just" Mac tensed in readiness for the lift, making Dennis' instructions hit a higher, more panic-stricken tone.

"Stop! For Christ's – would you put the keg down?"

"But I-"

"No" cried Dennis, sterner this time.

"Yeah, but-"

"Stop!" he held out a hand as if Mac was a dog disobeying a direct order, which in many ways was correct.

Taking note of both the tone of the words and the look on Dennis' face, Mac held up his own hands in submission and took a slow, cautious step back away from the keg.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Mac" said Dennis, feeling he could now properly begin his scolding "Those things weigh like 150 pounds, you can't lift that!"

"I've done it millions of times, dude. I'm fine" said Mac, leaning back in to grab the keg handles, ready to demonstrate how little of a big deal it was.

Dennis slapped his hands away, frustrated at how dense Mac was being right now.

"You're pregnant, for fuck's sake – you could rupture something or-or miscarry..." he sighed, acutely aware that Mac was looking at him, obviously torn between being somewhat touched at Dennis' concern and irritated at being told off in front of the alley hobos. "Will you get Charlie, please?" Dennis asked, deliberately calmer "Go get him. Or Dee, tell her to put those gigantic talons of hers to good use for once in her life..."

As Mac headed back into Paddies, Dennis was weighing up the merits of cocooning his room-mate in bubble-wrap for the next 6 months.

"Charlie" said Mac, walking behind the bar, seething over Dennis' entirely justified reprimand "Dennis needs you to go handle the delivery."

"What?!?" came the outraged response, accompanied by the clacking noise of a beer bottle being slammed onto the bar top "Oh c'mon – I've been busting my ass all morning, dude – why me?" he threw Mac an aggrieved look as he waited for an answer, allowing Dee to swoop in and monopolize Charlie's rapidly narrowing window of attention.

"You have _not_ been busting your ass all morning, Charlie..."

"Yeah I have" came the immediate retort, Charlie ditching one argument in favour of another "I've been unblocking a toilet all morning, Dee. That's what I've been doing, that's work – that's me, that's me busting my ass over a toilet!"

Mac snickered at Charlie's poor choice of wording as Dee hit back with "A toilet that _you_ clogged, Charlie!" she turned to Mac, intent on getting him onto her side "He dumped a catering size jar of cocktail onions down there to see if they'd float..."

Charlie hemmed and haw'd at the accusation, which was in all fairness correct.

"They were never going to float, Charlie..."

"Well you look pretty stupid now, Dee" said Charlie, the colour starting to rise in his cheeks "cos there is a _huge_ difference between toilet water and vinegar, so I needed to experiment and now we know for sure..." he grabbed his beer and went to take a swig before deciding he was too riled up, the bottle was slammed back on the bar top with some force "you might not thank me for my hard work but science ... _science_ will!"

Charlie's outburst felt especially big and loud in the silence of the bar that followed. Mac sighed and Charlie looked to him, no doubt seeking a supporter for this and future onion-based experiments.

"Dude" said Mac, preparing himself for the inevitable freak-out "can you go help Dennis with the delivery?"'

The bottle of beer was knocked over as Charlie flailed his arms at the injustice "Why me? Why's it always gotta be Charlie? You were doing it – why does Dennis want me to do it!?"

"Dennis won't let me lift anything" said Mac, grabbing a rag to mop up the foamy pool of beer "cos I'm pregnant..."

Charlie made a series of strangled, angry noises like a cornered animal. Eventually, he stormed away, kicking at the barstools he passed, muttering darkly all the while.

"Starting on that excuse early..." muttered Dee

"Oh, shut up bird."

"Y'know, it's ironic" said Dee, propping her bony elbows onto the bar as she watched Mac clean up the spilled beer "you've owned this bar for years and were always looking to dodge doing actual work..."

Mac kept wiping at the now clean, dry spot to avoid needing to having to engage at all with her "and now you're pregnant and suddenly you can't wait to go lift the heavy shit or climb a rickety ladder but then suddenly we're right back to 'I can't do that, Dennis won't let me wah-wah'..." Dee's voice was high and mocking. Getting the impression that Mac was ignoring her, she wrenched the rag out of his hands "you really think Dennis is going to stick around for that?"

Mac tried to grab the rag back but Dee held it aloft with her freakishly long arms. She smirked as Mac attempted once again to retrieve it, deliberately avoiding meeting Dee's eyes.

"Face it" she taunted "you were a whiny-ass, annoying piece of shit before you were pregnant....you're going to be even worse now _and_ soon you're going to be looking like one of those British dudes that play darts...you really think Dennis is going to be helping you do breathing exercises or shopping for sleeveless maternity t-shirts?"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Mac, trying not to let it show that Dee had just voiced the fears that had been running around his head since the elation over Dennis' commitment to co-parenting had worn off.

"My brother is a very selfish man, Mac. Don't know if you've ever noticed that" said Dee "He couldn't even tough it out with the kid that _was_ his, so what chance do you and your Lil Bastard have?" she smiled again, so broadly that anyone would have been forgiven for thinking she was actually genuinely enjoying this exchange.

"I mean....you can't honestly believe he cares, right? He won't give a shit about doctor's appointments and nursery colours or baby carriers...I give it 2 months tops before he's sick of your sorry ass and he does what he does best" there was a pause before she delivered the final blow "gets rid of the dead weight..." she threw the rag at Mac, hitting him square in the face "better get used to the idea of being a single mom, Mac..." she waltzed off, cheered by the opportunity to cast a pall over someone's day.

Mac glared at her back as Dee walked away, somehow resisting the urge to throw the rag or something heavier at her as she left. Instead, he twisted the fabric his hands, his knuckles going white from the force, desperately wishing Dennis had just let him move the kegs – anything to have not had that conversation with Dee...

\-------------------------------

“Mac, c'mon – we're going to be late” Dennis had been stood in the living room of their apartment for the last 5 minutes, ready to go. Unusually, it was Mac holding them up this time.

“Just a sec, dude – okay?” came the reply, Mac's tone tinged with irritation.

Dennis rolled his eyes, taking full advantage of the fact that Mac was in his bedroom and wouldn't see. Mac had been getting snippy – he'd always gone about his life violently swinging from one dominant emotion to the next and whilst lately he'd been more restrained, he would be churlish and often just outright bitchy. Dennis had cut him a bit of slack over it – not least because the guy was pregnant but because most of his sarkiness was being directed at Dee, which was always pleasant to watch.

“What's the holdup, anyhow?” asked Dennis, fully unprepared for the severity of the response that he got.

“Oh my _God,_ Dennis – will you shut the _fuck_ up and just let me get ready in peace?!?”

Taken aback by the ferocity, Dennis barged into Mac's room intent of putting his room-mate in his place and also finding out what in the world was causing the delay. Dennis took a small amount of satisfaction in seeing Mac startle at the interruption.

Mac had been trying to get dressed, his t-shirt hoisted up to his chest whilst he battled with the button on his jeans. He looked shocked at his roommate's sudden arrival.

“What in the hell are you doing?” demanded Dennis “we gotta go.”

Mac felt the cheeks start to warm and he needed to look anywhere else in the room rather than that Dennis. He swore he could feel Dennis' gaze landing on his stomach as Mac was frozen in place.

“My...erm” Mac actually winced a bit “my pants don't fit...” he admitted, praying he had the emotional reserves to handle the mockery that was about to follow.

Dennis had been expecting this. He couldn't help but notice the subtle changes to his roommate's body. He'd been seeing the telltale signs of Mac growing bigger - the t-shirt that fit a little snugger, the slight curvature of his lower belly that was exposed when he'd reached up to the top bar shelf.

Trust Mac to make a massive performance about it though.

Anxious over the lack of response from Dennis, words tumbled out of Mac's mouth as he desperately tried to fill the awkward silence “they don't fit and I'm going to look so stupid and I'm going to get _so_ fat-” he tussled again with the button, thoroughly agitated and embarrassed.

Dennis knew better than to poke this particular bear. Making jokes at Fat Mac had been immensely satisfying and fun. Teasing a pregnant Mac who was edging perilously close to a full-on hormonal meltdown as he grappled with his changing body was just asking for trouble.

“Think of it this way” said Dennis lightly “your baby's gaining mass..”

Mac clearly hadn't thought of it that way, judging by the look on his face as he heard that. He smiled, brushing his fingertips across the gentle curve of his stomach as he let Dennis' words reassure and cheer him.

“Now” said Dennis, clapping a hand on his roommate's shoulder “get your ass in the car – we need to get going.”

Neither had admitted it to each other, but Mac and Dennis had both been looking forward to the ultrasound appointment. Mac still couldn't quite believe he had Dennis' support through all this but was immensely grateful there was someone beside him for these strange new experiences. Mac had also been eager to see his baby – it felt like the final piece of evidence to confirm that yup, this is indeed happening.

“Okay” said the ultrasound technician as Mac lay back on the hospital bed, the slight swell of his stomach a little more pronounced now that he was on his back “you both ready to see your baby?”

“Just to clarify” said Dennis, drawing his chair closer to the bedside but his attention fixed on the very pretty young technician “we aren't an item” he gestured to Mac “we're co-parents and business partners but it's nothing sexual and certainly nothing romantic...”

The ultrasound technician blinked in confusion.

“Really, dude?” scoffed Mac, amused more than anything at Dennis hitting on medical staff mid-appointment.

Eager to avoid being the subject of any more ill-timed flirtatious attention, the ultrasound technician set about getting Mac prepped for the scan. “Gel might be a bit cold” she warned. Mac yelped as the gel hit his stomach, causing Dennis to smirk. Mac caught his roommate's eyes and muttered “dick” under his breath.

“Okay” said the technician, maneuvering the ultrasound wand across Mac's stomach “let's see your little one...”

Dennis found it hard to describe the change of atmosphere that followed. As the grainy black and white image of the occupant of Mac's stomach grew clearer and more defined, Dennis could have sworn the rest of the world fell away. He felt like he was witnessing something profound and important. He'd entered this appointment feeling like he knew exactly what was coming but he'd still been blown away by it.

There were seldom times when both he and Mac were at a loss for words but this was shaping up to be one of them - they stared at the screen, drinking in all the details before them, neither one scarcely able to believe what they were seeing.

“Holy shit” whispered Dennis eventually.

“It's...a baby” said Mac, in a similar hushed, emotive tone.

“It's...a boy” said Dennis, spotting confirmation of what both he and Mac had been rooting for.

Mac's eyes lit up “We're having a boy! Oh my god, dude – this is amazing!”

“Oh...oh no, it's too early to tell the sex yet” corrected the technician.

Dennis pointed to the screen “No, it's a boy, see – that's clearly a dick”

The technician followed Dennis' finger “that's a leg...”

“yeah, third leg!” said Mac, grinning broadly. He and Dennis shared a high-five as the ultrasound technician ultimately decided it wasn't worth the fight. She moved the ultrasound wand about, taking measurements and running through her checks, allowing the two men space to contemplate their baby.

The pair watched as the baby wiggled about on the screen, a calm and contented silence surrounding them. Dennis didn't think he'd ever seen Mac look so happy – his room-mate was gazing at his unborn child with soft eyes, his bright smile infectious.

“Everything is looking really good” said the technician, her words stirring the men from their baby-gazing daze “you've got a happy, healthy little baby in there.”

Mac breathed a sigh of relief.

“Would you like a photo of the scan for your baby book?”

“Sure” said Dennis.

“We can also put it on a bunch of other stuff” explained the technician, passing Mac a wad of paper towels to wipe the gel off his stomach “like mugs, keyrings, t-shirts – those kinda things...”

Mac froze mid-wipe to throw a pointed look at Dennis, who knew there was no way the pair were walking out of here without a t-shirt of their baby scan. It'd probably have the sleeves cut off it in less than 5 minutes, but what the hell – why not?

When the pair were back in the Land Rover, Dennis experienced another seismic shift in the mood. He turned to look at Mac who was holding the t-shirt with the picture of their baby in his hands, lost deep in his own thoughts. Dennis would have thought nothing of the silence between them had Mac not been frowning at the greyscale picture, clutching at the fabric with slightly shaking hands. He was trying not to cry but failing...badly.

“Dude, you okay?” asked Dennis.

Mac angrily brushed away a tear “I'm fine, man – I'm not crying.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow, which only encouraged further protests from Mac “shut up – I'm not crying, I'm not...it's allergies. Your car is dusty as shit and it's aggravating my allergies...” he wiped away more tears that allegedly didn't exist with the palm of his hands and stared out the window of the car.

“I clean this car twice a week, Mac” said Dennis, softly.

Mac sniffed, looking back to the t-shirt bundled on his lap “it's so small” he said, his voice sounding equally minuscule. That thought brought on a fresh wave of tears “I'm being ridiculous” he choked out around the lump in his throat.

He was, thought Dennis but that wasn't what Mac needed to hear right now. “No” he lied, giving Mac a gentle pat on the back “No – it's...it's a big step. Seeing the baby for the first time, y'know...it's normal to have a...bit of cry.” Dennis turned the key in the ignition, hoping the drive to the bar will help calm Mac down. “Not every positive emotion is a sign of weakness...”

“C'mon – clean yourself up, buddy” said Dennis as the car pulled out of the hospital parking lot, having let Mac get in a good couple of seconds full-on sobbing “we've got a baby to show off...”

A little while later, Dennis walked into Paddy's closely followed by a much more emotionally stable Mac.

“Whatever it is you're doing, stop it and get ready for an important announcement from me and Mac” yelled Dennis, rapping on the bar top to fully emphasize his words.

“Is this going to be a regular thing from now on?” asked Dee as she dried a glass, feeling she could only tolerate 2, maybe 3 more dramatic announcements.

Dennis ignored her “We are very excited to reveal something quite special...”

The three blank faces of Dee, Charlie and Frank looked back at them but that didn't deter Dennis one bit.

“Mac” he said, giving his room-mate the cue to start.

With a triumphant “ta-da” Mac unzipped his hoodie, showing off the ultrasound t-shirt underneath with immeasurable pride.

The rest of the Gang squinted, unsure exactly what they were meant to be looking at. Dennis and Mac shared an exasperated look – they'd both been hoping for a much bigger, quicker and altogether more positive reaction. Seconds ticked by, but still nothing close to an adequate response.

“Nothing?” demanded Dennis, “You guys don't know what this is?”

Mac pulled the fabric straighter to better show off the scan image, carefully monitoring the expressions on Dee, Charlie and Frank, wondering who would figure it out first.

“What the hell is it?” asked Charlie, turning his head practically 90 degrees as he tried to work out exactly what he was being asked to look at - he'd tackle of the problem of figuring out how he was expected to respond later.

“Oh!” cried Frank, excitedly “I got it!”

Mac and Dennis smiled at each other – it was safe to say neither of them would have bet on Frank to recognise the picture as being their ultrasound scan but occasionally the old guy could surprise you.

“It's the new album cover for that metal band” explained Frank, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“...what?” asked Dennis, feeling foolish for giving Frank the benefit of the doubt before the idiot had had the chance to answer in full.

“y'know, they all wear masks but they've got their junk out...”

“Wouldn't have put you down as a metalhead, Frank.” said Charlie.

“Well, normally I'm not” admitted Frank “but this band...they've got a _lady_ drummer” he waggled his eyebrows in a thoroughly disturbing manner.

Dee folded her arms and sneered “Oh, gross. Frank, you're disgusting!”

Dennis needed to act quickly to get these idiots back on topic “So...all of you seriously don't know what this is?” he demanded, pointing to Mac who was looking especially downhearted at how the first picture of his baby had been overshadowed by talk of an explicit metal bands fictional album cover.

Charlie gave a shout of triumph “Ah! _AH_! I know it, I recognise it now!” he glanced around at the rest of a gang, looked extraordinarily pleased with himself “it's an ultrasound.” he said, leaning against the bar with the air of a man who has just solved the unsolvable.

“Yes!” cried Dennis, grateful for the little guy pulling this one together.

“Rat ultrasound.”

“NO!”

By now, Mac had walked away from the argument to grab one of the few cans of soda they kept in the bar fridge. Bitterly, he popped the tab on the can and watched Dennis try to wrangle the 3 obtuse morons somewhere towards comprehension.

Dennis felt a headache building “Charlie” he said, a slightly hopeless tone creeping into his voice “why on earth why would we have a rat ultrasound?”

Charlie shrugged “I dunno, man – I mean...” he trailed off as Dennis was staring at him with a very sinister expression. Similar looks were being kept in reserve for Dee and Frank.

“Let me help you guys out” said Dennis, in a dangerous tone that signified he was a few seconds away from a complete rage-out “Mac is wearing a t-shirt....on that t-shirt is a picture of an ultrasound...of _our_ baby...”

It wasn't obvious whether Dee, Charlie and Frank had finally realised the significance of the image on the t-shirt or were just telling Dennis what he wanted to hear but the trio made a collection of congratulatory noises.

“Lemme see, dude” said Charlie, looking towards Mac with sincere excitement “I wanna see the baby pic!”

“Well, you kinda just called my baby a rat, Charlie” said Mac, zipping up his hoodie in a petty display “so fuck you.”

Dennis pulled the photocopy of the scan from his wallet and pushed it towards Charlie. Frank and Dee leaned in to have a look.

“This...is our son.”

"It's a boy!" said Charlie, looking up excitedly, his gaze flicking quickly between Mac and Dennis "Fuck man, that's awesome..."

"Where's its head?" asked Dee, turning the picture around in her hands, trying to figure out which way was the right way up.

"There" said Dennis, tapping on what he thought was the head. "Or...there. It doesn't matter – all that's important is that we're having a boy and everything's good..."

Mac watched, his anger thawing somewhat as Dennis talked Dee, Charlie and Frank through the appointment, fingers tracing across the scan photo.

“This is incredible, man” said Charlie, poring over the scan photo “you guys are gonna be parents...”

By now, both Dennis and Mac had calmed down, feeling the enthusiasm of Charlie alone was enough to make up for the initial lackluster response. Mac nudged Dennis with his shoulder, the same broad smile he'd worn in the ultrasound clinic back on his face as he listened to Charlie.

“This is like, a crazy mad time for you both and it's like, insane you guys are gonna have like a whole little person and I can't wait to see how this pans out y'know but...” he paused as he weighed up what he was about to say next “I kinda wanna see that band with the exposed junk...”

Charlie glanced up, seeing whether he'd overstepped a line – both Mac and Dennis had the tendency to be very shouty these days.

“Oh...my God” said Dennis “Me too.”

“Thank God you said it, Charlie” agreed Mac “cos I have been thinking about how to get tickets _ever_ since it came up...”


	5. Sober on St. Paddy's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac is left to tend the bar, alone and pregnant whilst the rest of the Gang celebrates St. Paddy's Day Philly-style.

Mac hadn't spent a St. Paddy's Day sober since grade school.

In retrospect, asking the rest of the Gang to stay sober-ish was a crapshoot. Mac had expected them to fail, each to their degree....but Jesus, couldn't they have at least waited until sundown before being completely and utterly shitfaced?

Mac exhaled angrily, his palms resting across the now more noticeable curve of his stomach as he watched with limited patience the inebriated occupants of Paddy's Pub, four of which were notionally meant to be working.

Frank was mid-way through telling a story of a failed business venture to a small gaggle of regulars, all of them swaying a little. Mac wagered that story had three, maybe four racial slurs left in it before Frank found himself either on his own or in a fight. Charlie and Dee were arguing over something, the short man's lips tinged a very unhealthy shade of green from the artificially coloured beer as he fought his verbal corner with his usual ferocity.

Mac's eyes traveled to the other side of the bar, where Dennis was 2 undone shirt buttons into flirting with a young blonde who was laughing a little too long and loud to be making rational decisions.

It was a shade before midnight and Paddy's had been jumping since lunchtime. Despite promises to help and pledges of support, the Gang had been necking drinks to keep up with the bar's patrons before they'd all slunk off, distracted by anything that wasn't work and leaving Mac to tend the bar solo.

"They're not usually this bad..." said Mac, looking down at this stomach as he addressed the baby inside. He considered this briefly before admitting "actually, what the fuck am I saying? This is pretty typical for them..."

As the night wore on, Mac became increasingly irritated. His back was starting from hurt from hours on his feet and a couple of the revelers were getting to that belligerent level of drunkenness. They posed no threat to Mac of course, but he could do without the additional aggravation.

As he served a customer whose 'Irish You Were Beer' t-shirt was mottled with splashes of booze, sweat and blood, he wished that at least one of them had hung around, if only to keep him company.

The sound of Dee snorting in his ear, her breath hot and odious against the side of his head made him instantly regret that wish.

"Dennisss is st-still talkin' to that lady" she said, half-draping herself across Mac's shoulders as she wobbled. Feeling she'd successfully stirred up some drama, she took a swig of her beer, spilling a sizeable amount down her neck and shirt.

"Jesus, Dee – your breath could cut glass..." Mac shrugged her off and resisted the urge to look over at Dennis and the still laughing blonde. What the fuck was so fucking funny anyway?

She smirked "I can...I can tell you what Dennis wants to cut" she leaned back in again, adopting the paradoxically loud whisper of the inebriated "her _vagina_!"

"I don't think that means what you're intending it to mean"

"Pfffftttt" huffed Dee, dismissively "you...don't mean....w-what you intendsss to mean..."

At this point, Mac prayed Dee would slope off somewhere else, disappointed by his inability to be provoked. Unfortunately, this was a day where Mac was plain out of luck.

"She'sss really pretty" said Dee, waving her near-empty bottle at the blonde "an-and she's got a flat belly, unlike you..." she sniggered and poked Mac in the stomach with her bony fingertips.

"Knock it off, Dee" said Mac, pushing her hands away.

Dee was nothing less than doggedly persistent whilst drunk, so she went to jab Mac again as she said, rather predictably "I can tell you what _Dennis_ wants to knock-"

Mac grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from his stomach, feeling his anger bubbling inside of him. Dee flailed in his grip, trying to give him another prod with her index finger whilst bringing her other skeletal claw in for a sneak attack. From across the bar came an excited cheer, which put a pause on their tussle.

Looking up, Mac saw the blonde had stood up in front of Dennis and had dropped the waistband of her low-rise jeans to display her ass tattoo, showing off a lot more in the process (probably deliberately). Fuelled by beer, nearby patrons whooped delightedly at the sight of the flesh, encouraging the blonde to turn around and giggle "It's a shamrock! Cos, I'm _like_ , fourth-fifths Irish on my Aunt's side!"

Feeling too disgusted to even roll his eyes, Mac threw off Dee's arm and scowled at Dennis, who was too drunk and pre-occupied with a twentysomethings basic-bitch tattoo to notice or care.

"Ohhhhh" said Dee, enlivened by a new subject of torment to direct at Mac. She dropped into the broad, badly delivered Irish accent that she was inexplicably so proud of "Dennis is def-" she paused to belch, again right into Mac's ear " _def-_ inately gunna be kissin' hur Blarney Stone, that's fo' sure!"

"So offensive" muttered Mac before he set about getting rid of Dee, at least for a few minutes. He was worried about the baby getting drunk off the fumes coming out of Dee's mouth. "Hey Dee, that guy over there has been asking for fresh bar peanuts all night..."

Mac gestured to the kind of douche that was exactly Dee's type, whether or not she'd admit it. His pristine white sneakers showed him off as a man who had no business being in a dive-bar but Mac was certain that the mid-range gold watch on his wrist was probably being paid for in installments.

"So?" said Dee, her eyes traveling up and down the douche with obvious interest.

"Well, maybe it's a nice way to introduce yourself" said Mac, "flirt a little...get his number..."

Dee greedily sucked down the rest of her beer, staring intently at her prey. She tossed the bottle over her shoulder, making Mac wince as it shattered on the floor behind the bar "come to mama..." she muttered as she stomped towards the basement, each step more unsteady than the last.

Mac closed his eyes wearily, allowing himself a few precious seconds of peace before grabbing the broom to sweep up the broken glass. A little while later he heard Dee yell “heard y'like nuts!”, thrusting a giant handful in the douche's face but spilling most of them on the floor.

It was gone three in the morning before all the inhabitants of the pub had either left or passed out. Mac picked his way across the bar floor, bodies sprawled across the sticky surface, the fallen victims of the battle against alcoholic beverages. He drew the lock across the door and hit the lights. Tiredness had soaked so deep into his bones that he wondered whether he'd be too exhausted to sleep.

Sleep was not a fun prospect right now – Mac wanted nothing more than to go home, crash for a solid twelve hours, eat some junk food and then maybe nap for another six hours...but that would mean letting the Gang off the hook. They were like dogs – unless you were telling them off for something they'd just done, they wouldn't remember and certainly would never learn from it.

As pressing as the urge to sleep was, the desire to have revenge was greater.

Mac made his way into the back office and did his best to find a comfortable position, curled up on the desk chair and covered by his leather jacket. His eyes stung and he was already dreading the groggy, disorientated state he'd be in the next morning when he woke up.

'This morning' Mac corrected himself, tugging the jacket closer around his shoulders as he came to the conclusion he was never going to be able to get to sleep.

Amazingly, Mac did sleep and woke, convinced that mere minutes had passed. His neck and lower back were competing for which body part was the stiffest and most achey. Gently easing his body out of its contorted state, Mac checked the clock on the wall. 7.04 am. Perfect. Anything before ten AM was an ungodly hour for the Gang, doubly so after a rager.

Rubbing his neck to try and convince his spine to straighten fully, Mac opened the office door. The smell of old beer and unwashed bodies with just a delicate undertone of vomit hit his nostrils.

"Jesus Christ" he muttered, stepping over a comatose body as he made his way towards the door. He undid the lock, stifling a yawn. He was tired, he was aching but most importantly, he was angry.

As he walked back towards the back office, he cast his eyes around for the rest of the Gang. Frank had passed out on top of the pool table, his stubby arms and legs splayed out like a starfish. He must have fallen asleep with a noisemaker in his mouth, as one now rested on his chin.

Charlie was chosen to curl up under the pool table, giving the impression that he and Frank were kids at their first sleep-away camp. Dee was face-down on one of the booth tables, her hair pooling around her shoulders and her long arms hanging off the table in such a way that it gave Mac pins and needles just to look at.

Dennis was nowhere to be seen.

Finally allowing the rage that had nursed all of last night and in the early hours of this morning to boil up and over, he grabbed the aluminum trash can from the office and an empty bottle of cheap whiskey.

With the satisfied sigh of someone who knows he's going to enjoy what comes next, Mac clanged the empty liquor bottle about inside the bin, the combination of glass on metal echoing about the bar in a heinous cacophony.

The bodies that littered the bar began to move, some jerking upright, other squirming away from the source of the noise. One by one, they awoke.

"Listen up drunks!" Mac yelled over the clashing of his home-made alarm "If you are not an owner _or_ an employee of Paddy's Pub I'm going to need you to get your shit and get lost..."

Mac watched with glee as Charlie curled tighter into a ball, covering his ears in a vain attempt to block out the noise. Dee was extracting herself from the booth with the same cautious motions Mac had used at the height of his morning sickness. Frank, being older and less able to deal with hangovers simply lay there and groaned.

"C'mon lady" said Mac as he paced around the bar, clattering the trash can with battery-operated toy monkey-like enthusiasm "you know the saying, you don't need to go home but you can't stay here". The lady who'd been asleep with her head inside her handbag began dragging herself bodily to the door.

The various drunks, lushes and booze-hounds that had celebrated St. Patricks Day at Paddy's pub left, emerging into a harsh sunlit world that contained too many offensive noises and smells for their delicate conditions.

"Bar meeting, now." said Mac, sliding the lock back into place to prevent anyone trying to come in for a hair of the dog.

"Where's Dennis?" he asked no-one in particular as he highly doubted any of Frank, Dee and Charlie had regained the power of speech yet.

Mac threw open the door to the men's toilets with a brief note of hesitancy. He did not feel prepared to see a hungover Dennis coiled around the blonde with the ass tattoo in the filthy bathroom of the bar.

Dennis was in fact alone and had slept in the middle cubicle, half-draped across the toilet. His usually carefully styled hair tousled. Mac gave him a small kick, jolting him awake. Dennis blinked in confusion, his eyes adjusting to the cold, fluorescent light before he was finally able to focus on Mac.

"am...am I dead?" he asked, his voice hoarse and frail.

"Oh, you wish" said Mac "bar meeting – now. Get your ass up." he turned and left Dennis in the bathroom, trying to bring himself to even attempt to stand up.

By now, Dee and Charlie were sat at the bar, being each a perfect but unique poster-child for the dangers of alcohol abuse.

Frank was wobbling his way over to them like a baby giraffe, his short legs carrying him across the floor littered with beer bottles, confetti and smashed glass.

"Jesus, Frank!" exclaimed Mac as he caught sight of what the old man was wearing.

Frank grunted as he hauled himself onto a bar stool. He tugged at the fabric of the very petite bikini top he'd picked up from somewhere, the glittery shamrock stretched unappealing across his otherwise bare chest.

Mac stood behind the bar and waited patiently for Dennis to shuffle out of the bathroom doing up the last two buttons on his shirt. Only once he had all four of them assembled at the bar top did he finally unleash his fury.

He dropped the trash can onto the floor, the crash making those with a hangover wince violently and reel away from the sudden shot of noise. The liquor bottle was thrown with force into the trash can, the smashing proving a hideous accompaniment to the crashing.

"You guys owe me a _FUCKING_ apology!" screamed Mac, hitting the bar top with his fist.

"I don't owe you shit..." spat Dee, her words indicating she might have more fight in her than her weak, queasy looking body might suggest.

"You guys know I can't drink. I said it didn't matter as long as we were all working on St. Paddy's day. You fucking jackasses dumped me the first chance you got. You were no help" Mac threw up his hands in despair "You got shitfaced, all of you. You know what time you were all blackout drunk by...do you?!" he demanded.

There was shuffling and mumbling from the other side of the bar counter. Mac's explosion of temper feeling too big and noisy for the bar to contain and certainly nothing the rest of them could handle being on the receiving end of right now.

"Two. You fucking dickbags were all fucking obliterated by two o'clock!"

Dee opened her mouth to make a point that 2am was a perfect reasonable time to be so drunk you hold onto the floor after you collapse so you don't fall off before Mac interrupted her "Two pm Dee. Two in the God-damn fucking _afternoon_ , you four were wasted and I got to tend bar all by myself cos you were all too God-damn wrecked to help..."

Charlie swayed a little in his seat as he struggled to keep track of which of the three Macs he was seeing was talking right now. He was more drunk than hungover "I-I dunno..." he slurred "I do-don't thinkkk I was that bad."

"You were the worst, Charlie" snapped Mac "you'd lost your pants before seven o'clock"

Confused, Charlie plucked at his pants "...No I didn't..." he mumbled, his fingers gripping at the baggy fabric.

"Those aren't your pants, Charlie. I don't know whose pants they are but they're not yours!"

As Mac was talking, Charlie had fished something out of the pocket and was examining it with interest "why...why am I black on this bus pass?"

"You two" Mac said to Frank and Dee "you two caused so many fights last night, another fight kicked off over who got to beat your asses first..., so, that was a fun one to smooth over!”

Dennis waited for the full-force of Mac's anger to be directed at him. He sat, head pounding and stomach-churning as the armor piercing bullet that was his roommate's rage sped towards him.

"And you..." said Mac, drawing himself close to Dennis, who was just about able to raise his head to meet the furious stare "you had better _pray_ you wore protection. You think a twenty-something, four-fifths Irish chick with an ass tattoo is going to be totally disease-free? You think I'm letting you back in the apartment with a new strain of super-herpes or mega-clap? You're a fucking moron...” Mac brought himself closer to Dennis, who had the good grace to look a little ashamed “...I will drag you to the sex clinic and I will chop your dick off myself, personally..."

With that final threat delivered, Mac leaned back away from the bar. Blood pounding in his ears but feeling lighter for his wrath being unleashed. He gifted the rest of the Gang a few seconds of precious silence before he set about wrapping this shit-show up. He grabbed his jacket from the back office, pulling it on in a series of jerky, agitated movements.

"I am going to take my tips..." he grabbed the tip jar which was stocked with a healthy amount of notes and a few loose coins. Amazingly, he was met with a chorus of protestations, as if 23 minutes of work, 20 of which was spent drinking entitled them all to an equal cut

"Fuck you" said Mac, unmoved by their objections as he stuffed the cash into his jacket pocket "Fuck you all – I tended bar by myself for 15 fucking hours, I am keeping every Goddamn penny in here."

If any of the others were minded to fight them, they thought better of it.

"Now I am going to go home and sleep.” he treated them all to one last contemptuous look “My back hurts and I haven't eaten an actual meal since yesterday fucking lunchtime and I am a vessel of new life, God-fucking-dammit. You fuckers stay here and get this place cleaned up..." he stormed towards the door.

"And I still want a FUCKING APOLOGY!" he yelled over his shoulder, flipping all of them the double-bird as he kicked open the door and strode out into the sunlight.

There was a very uncomfortable silence once he'd left.

"Tsk" tutted Dee "hormonal much?"

"Shut up, bird" said Dennis, his usual enjoyment for that phrase absent. "Okay, Charlie you a grab a trash bag-"

Dennis turned to see Charlie fast asleep, the booze in his system not quite ready to relinquish control over his small frame.

Biting back a groan, Dennis said "Dee grab a trash bag...Frank, put a pot of coffee on...we've got a bar to clean..."

"We're seriously doing what he says?" said Dee, taking in the carnage that lay before them, not looking forward to a morning of manual labour with a hangover.

"The man threatened to cut my dick off, Dee...I'm going to do whatever the fuck he wants..."


	6. Hangovers and Painfully Honest Confessions Don't Mix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the shit Dennis pulled at the bar on St. Patricks Day, Mac hits him with a few hard truths and an even harder question for a hungover Dennis to answer.

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Dennis approached the door to his and Mac's apartment. Whilst his hangover had subsided slightly, the memory of Mac's anger had stayed with him as he'd worked to clean up the booze-fuelled crime scene at the bar. He'd even gone so far as to contemplate spending a further night sleeping at a bar, this time in a booth. In the end, the two days' worth of grime and alcohol-induced sweat that coated his body drove him home.

He took a breath to steady himself before he opened the apartment door. From the couch, Mac looked up, the look on his face no less hostile than when he'd stormed out of the bar hours earlier.

“Heyyy” said Dennis, as jovially as he dared “I brought pizza” he held the cardboard box aloft by way of unnecessary explanation. Dennis had hoped that the offering of food would have been enough to soothe the aggrieved Mac but it was not to be.

“Not interested.” came Mac's curt response. He was sat, feet resting on the coffee table, arms firmly crossed in the universal code for 'don't fuck with me'. He had clearly grabbed a nap and a shower, making Dennis all of the more conscious of his stained shirt and unmoisturised face.

“Bar's all clean” he said placing the pizza down on the dining table, extending a further olive branch of peace.

“Great...” sang Mac sarcastically, focusing intently on whatever he was watching on television. He was sending out pretty unambiguous messages about where he'd actually like to stick that fucking olive branch.

Breaking his self-enforced rule of no carbs after noon, Dennis helped himself to a slice of pizza and aimed up his final Hail Mary pass “Y'know Mac, I've been thinking and...it was shitty what happened at Paddy's yesterday...”

Mac's single quizzical raised eyebrow was the only indication he was listening to Dennis.

“So, next year – you're not working. You can be off the rota and get drunk like the rest of the city...”

“Next year I'll have a kid, Dennis” said Mac “I won't be able to get drunk.”

Dennis' brain scrambled around for a back-up plan. He genuinely thought he'd struck gold with that idea, a contrite quid-pro-quo offering.

“Well....erm” he floundered and took a bite of pizza if only to buy him some time “I'll watch the kid...yeah, I'll babysit and you get shitfaced...”

“Oh my God, Dennis” said Mac, completely exasperated at his selfishness and ignorance “It's not about me getting drunk!”

This was news to Dennis.

“I expected those other fuckers to let me down...but you?” Mac shook his head as he stood up and padded to the kitchen “You said we were in this together, we were co-parents.”

“We still are...” said Dennis, weakly.

Mac continued speaking as if he hadn't heard that “but the first time I need you to do something, the first time there's even a hint of you making a small sacrifice...you bail.” as Mac got a glass of water from the tap he addressed Dennis over his shoulder “like always...you bailed...”

This was not how Dennis expected this fight to go. He'd been imagining screaming matches, histrionics, maybe some ugly-crying...but this? This was new and he didn't like it.

Mac turned to face him “Dee gives it two months before you get sick of this” he gestured to his stomach “...and me – you'll get sick of me...”

Dennis snorted “what does Dee know?” hoping a bit of mutual Dee-bashing would break the tension that had settled in the apartment.

Again, Mac ignored him. He'd had this argument lined up in his head for hours, replaying the possible scene again and again and again. By now, he was word perfect “And after the shit you pulled last night, I think maybe she's right...” He stared directly at Dennis “do you really want to do this with me or not?”

The question hit Dennis as forcefully as a slap. He blinked and made noises of contemptuous disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me that question right now?” he said to Mac, who nodded.

“Mac, I'm on your side with this – 100% buddy, you and me...”

“For real?”

“Absolutely!”

Mac surveyed Dennis with obvious distrust “do you honestly mean that?” he asked and before even waiting for an answer followed it up with “you promise not to walk out on us...on me and the baby?” both hands were splayed across his lower stomach as if to shield the tiny creature inside from this confrontation.

Dennis hesitated for just a split second and immediately knew he'd messed up “Yes” he said, with force “Of course, no – I'm...here...I'm committed...”

“As committed as you were to Brain Junior?”

Ouch.

Jesus, that one stung.

“I....yes....okay – I mean-” said Dennis, as he tried to shrug off that rebuke in good grace.

“Cos, you flew halfway across the country for that kid...” said Mac, his words blunt and cold but each one completely, undeniably true “and then you just left...you came back...”

“...I-” began Dennis, only to have Mac talk over him again, steamrollering over his excuses.

“What chance does a kid that's not yours have.”

It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

Dennis stood in shock, feeling like he was being outwitted at every turn, his usual razor-sharp wits dull and lethargic. Mac had slept, Mac wasn't hungover and Mac knew exactly what to say to knock the wind of out Dennis' reflexive half-truths - there was no way Dennis could compete with that, still half-hungover and emotionally brittle.

As the statement hung between the pair, Mac stared Dennis down, scanning his expression for some shred of earnestness.

“If you've changed your mind...” said Mac eventually “if you don't want to do this with me...I need to know now, man.”

Desperate for something for his hands to do, Dennis picked up a slice of pizza despite the fact his stomach seemed to have shrunk into nothingness. He toyed with the slice in his hands, gazing into the oil pooled on a piece of pepperoni as he couldn't bring himself to look at Mac.

“I need to know either way, cos I gotta make arrangements...like, finding a new apartment-”

Dennis' head snapped up “new apartment?” he asked, feeling like his already frail grasp on the thread of conversation had just been ripped out of his hands.

Mac nodded, solemnly “Yeah. If mean, if you're out and I'm doing this on my own....I need to move out” he shrugged, seemingly unaffected by this big, drastic potential change he'd thrown at Dennis “I'll need my own place for me and the kid...”

Making his way past Mac to the couch Dennis contemplated this, his body numb from exhaustion and shock. He sat down, gazing at his shoes with unfocused eyes, feeling ambushed by Mac's demands.

Finally, he was able to ask “...you'd move out?”

Every fiber of Mac's body was urging him to rush over and comfort Dennis, to accept fault for everything and to shower his roommate with apologies and praise...but he held his nerve.

“Look, man” he said, his tone softening a little as he spoke “if it were just me...” he sighed “I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth, dude. You tell me we're living in the fucking North Pole or some bullshit and I'd pack my bags and go in a heartbeat...”

Dennis felt a small flicker of relief ignite inside his chest but it was doused out by what Mac said next.

“But I can't just think about myself anymore, man” his hands hadn't left his stomach the entire time they'd been talking “I spent most of my life growing up without a dad and it fucking sucked...but what sucked worse was having him around and _then_ losing him, watching him leave and knowing he probably wasn't coming back...”

Raking his fingers through his uncombed hair, Dennis couldn't help throwing some harsh words towards Mac, anything to feel like he still had some modicum of control “well I had a dad there all the time growing up and that wasn't exactly sunshine and roses either, Mac!”

In spite of the nastiness, Mac held his ground “I can't have you in and out of the kid's life, Dennis. I can't have you coming and going whenever you have a mood or something freaks you out. You can't do that to him...to us.”

Dennis forced himself to look Mac right in the eye, steeling himself for the question that he knew was coming next.

“I need you to decide, Dennis...are you in this with me or not?” Mac held up a hand as Dennis prepared to respond “and don't rush an answer, okay? Don't just tell me whatever you think I want to hear - this is serious...I need to know that you mean what you say...”

The urge to flee was almost irresistible now – Dennis had spent his entire adult life orchestrating situations and relationships so as to avoid pressures like this. He wasn't in control of this argument – he never had been. Mac had got him on the back foot the second he'd stepped through the door. Despite the fear inside him, he sat and he allowed himself to follow Mac's directions. He thought hard about what he'd been asked.

Was this what he wanted?

Had the idea of helping Mac with his baby soured over these past weeks?

Did he have it in him to be a dad? He'd failed before, he'd struggled and given up at something when other men much weaker than him had prevailed...

Unbidden, the memory of Mac's smile at the ultrasound flooded Dennis' thoughts and he found his hand instinctively reaching for the wallet in his dirty jeans that carried the scan copy.

The seconds dragged by, Dennis' heartbeat lending an urgent, anxious soundtrack to his deliberations.

Mac had given him an out – did he want to take it?

“Mac” he said, softly but deliberately “I'm in.” he paused and swallowed “I'm in...I'm nervous as hell but erm...I'm in. For you. For both of you.” he managed a small smile, taxing though it was between the hangover and the emotional toll of the day.

“...really?”

“Yes. Completely.”

It felt like it took Mac an age to determine whether he believed Dennis, during which time it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Mac sighed, his steely demeanour crumbling “Oh thank God, man” he said, “I don't think I could to do this alone...”

“Co-parents” said Dennis quietly.

“Co-parents.” came the reply, as Mac grabbed himself two slices of lukewarm pizza, obviously hungered by the exchange of brutally honest confessions. He joined Dennis on the couch, with a half-hearted grin.

Dennis let his head drop against the back of the couch, a groan escaping from his body that he hadn't realised he'd been holding in. He felt he'd aged a good five years during that confrontation, which still only put him on par with a healthy twentysomething but still...

The pair weren't back to their usual dynamic just yet. It took a couple of scenes of a by-the-numbers 90s action movie for the frosty atmosphere to thaw. By the time Mac had finished his pizza and brought the box with the remaining slices across to the couch, Dennis felt able to share something he thought he ought to get some recognition for.

“I didn't sleep with her by the way...”

Mac frowned, half-way through biting a slice.

“The girl” clarified Dennis “we didn't...it never...Yeah.”

“Oh fuck, man” said Mac, smirking “you should have told me sooner, I'd have got you a medal.”

“You dick” Dennis laughed in spite of himself “in all fairness, the girl had an ass tattoo Mac, – I might as well go dip my dick in a sewer.”

Swallowing a mouthful of pizza Mac felt compelled to ask “you seriously didn't hit that? That chick was down...I thought at one point I'd need to poke you guys apart with a broom before you just started fucking on the floor...”

“Nah, man – she wanted to. She was _definitely_ down” even when trying to be contrite, Dennis couldn't help but brag “but by that point I was so drunk, I just wanted to order fried chicken...”

“oh shit” laughed Mac “you _were_ wasted – regular Dennis never eats fried chicken!”

“Don't remind me – I'm going to be living on lemon juice and cayenne pepper for a week to get over that little splurge...” despite this commitment he grabbed the final slice from the greasy pizza box.

“Seriously, dude?” said Mac, sounding comically indignant.

“What?”

“You're seriously going to steal food off a pregnant guy?”

“Twenty minutes ago you weren't interested in the pizza!” yelled Dennis, but passing it across to Mac regardless, feeling it wasn't worth either the calories or the fight.

“That's cos I was mad at you then” replied Mac, before taking a triumphant bite. “I'm glad we made up though...” he added, with that casual honesty that Dennis found inspiring and terrifying in equal measures.

“Me too” he agreed, showing Mac a little honesty of his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoof.
> 
> Bit of a heavy one, jokes a little thin on the ground but everyone loves a bit of angst and pining from time to time...


	7. Boobs and Not-so-casual Racism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franks asks Mac for help with an art project and Dennis accidentally reveals all the dirty details of the baby's not-so immaculate conception.

“Mac, I need your help with somethin' – it's a gay thing!” said Frank, hurrying over to where Mac was sat, carrying the pub's laptop.

Closing his eyes briefly in anticipation of more inappropriate, borderline hate-crime talk, Mac answered as civilly as he could “What is it, Frank?”

The old guy dropped into the seat opposite Mac and opened the laptop “I'm workin' on this art project” he explained, his glasses slipping down his nose “and I need some perspective on it. I can't ask Dennis or Charlie because they're straight and they'll say they like it regardless of whether it's any good, and Deandrea thinks it's sexist...”

“It is sexist, Frank” cried Dee from across the bar “you're Photoshopping boobs onto pictures of other boobs, it's disgusting and it's weird!”

Frank waved her criticisms away with an impatient hand as he continued speaking to Mac “so I need you and your gay thoughts, you can tell me if it's crass or not...”

Mac was stunned into silence for a few seconds as he unpacked what Frank had just thrown at him. “Fuck it” he concluded, knowing there was little else in the way of entertainment in the bar that day “Lemme see...”

With evident pride, Frank spun the laptop towards Mac. True to Dee's word, there was an image of a pair of breasts with 27 other smaller breasts digitally augmented onto them.

Mac blinked, as he took it all in.

“Now, do you think there are too many breasts in this picture?” asked Frank, the fate of his strange passion project riding on Mac's approval.

“As a gay man” said Mac “definitely” he considered the picture again, tilting his head slightly as he contemplated “...but as an art critic, I think it actually needs _more_ – go big or go home, dude.”

Frank gave a triumphant laugh “Excellent!” he closed up the laptop and moved to leave the table before casually saying “Oh, one more thing – is the guy that got you knocked up black?”

Several blocks away, dog's ears perked up at the high note of Mac's “WHAT?!?”

“The guy that did this to you” said Frank, pointing the laptop towards Mac's growing stomach “I just want to know if he's black...”

Mac was speechless for the second time in as many minutes; he gaped at Frank, who was untroubled by the reaction “why does it matter, Frank?” he managed to choke out.

“It doesn't” said Frank nonchalantly“I just want to know if you're having a half-black kid so I can prepare.”

“Oh my God” said Mac, covering his eyes with his palms “This is insane, this is the most racist thing I've ever heard” the final part of Frank's sentence had filtered through his consciousness “and what the fuck do you mean by _prepare_? What the fuck does that involve exactly?”

By now Dennis had walked over to them, summoned by his roommate's impressively shrill, emotional screeching “I'm with Mac on this one, Frank – this is easily the most racist thing you've said...which is an impressive new low for you, considering.”

“How is that racist?” demanded Frank “I just wanna know if the kid's gonna be half-black – I'm interested is all.”

“It's not the dark ages anymore, Frank” said Dennis shaking his head at the sorry show of intolerance “There's plenty of mixed-race families out there and it's just you and few other bigots that have an issue with it. We had a half-black president for God's sake, get with the program...” Lecture done, he turned to Mac “seriously though, was the guy black? Cos that feels like something I ought to know before delivery day...”

Mac buried his face in his hands “No” he mumbled from behind his fingers “no, the guy wasn't black – I don't see why it matters...Jesus Christ, you people are the worst...” he got up and walked to the bar. Had he not been pregnant, Mac would have been driven to grab a beer by the awfulness and absurdity of the situation. He bowed to the instinct but grabbed a can of soda instead.

“Who was this guy anyhow?” asked Charlie, who'd been listening to the exchange “cos we don't know anything about him other than he's not black...”

“He's...he's no-one” said Mac, shrugging “it doesn't matter...”

“It kinda does cos like, the guy got you pregnant...kinda feels we ought to know a little summat more about him...”

“Guys, it's nothing okay – it was a one-time thing, I got pregnant and...that's that. You don't need to know anything more.” Mac looked imploringly at Dennis, hoping for a little help of shifting talk onto another topic of conversation – any other topic really.

“Oh God” said Dee “it's someone we know...” she looked pointedly at her brother, who ignored her.

“No” corrected Mac, feeling his cheeks start to burn from the awkwardness “No, it's not – it was just a guy I met on an app, none of you know him.”

Despite his attempts to deflect the barrage of questions and accusations, Charlie and Dee persisted. “We might know him” said Charlie “we won't know if you don't tell us...”

“Or are you not telling us cos you got a bun put in your oven by an uggo?” asked Dee, smirking.

“Guys, knock it off” said Dennis, joining Mac behind the bar. His patience for this sort of talk had long since run out and Mac was doing an abysmal job of fending off the inquisition. The very existence of the guy who'd gotten Mac pregnant was a taboo subject for Dennis; between them, he and Mac had an unspoken rule to not mention it, even in passing. Yet now, here they were, debating and deliberating about this guy in great detail.

“Dennis, c'mon” said Dee “surely you want to know a little more about the guy that shot his load into Mac?”

He snapped, unleashing an outburst he hadn't realised had been building up “Actually, Dee – I don't. I don't waste _hours_ of my life imagining Mac having sex with a stranger in a portapotty at the farmer's market!”

“Dude...” said Mac quietly, aggrieved Dennis had just ratted him out like that. He cringed as he felt everyone in the bar turn to look at him, various expressions of horror, disgust and delight being worn.

“Oh my God” said Charlie in a small voice “...you went to the farmer's market without me?”

“Focusing on the wrong bit of that story, Charlie” said Dee, nearly beside herself at the news “You got pregnant...in a toilet...at the farmer's market?!?”

Mac twitched in response, refusing to answer her question with actual words. Dee squealed delightedly “Oh my _GOD_! Mac, you giant whore” she cackled “Ohhh. This is incredible. I am going to have fun with this one for weeks.”

Throwing Dennis a sour look, Mac wished he could just be left the fuck alone and not be bothered with Photoshopped boobs, hardcore racism and casual sex-shaming.

“Mac” Dee said “you know you can just text the eggplant emoji, right? You don't need to go buy one, you fucking dumbass” she snorted at her own joke and immediately thought of another one “what exactly did you say Mac? That you wanted your eggs free-range and _fertilised_!”

“Jesus, Dee” said Dennis,

“Oh shit, wait - I got more...I bet he couldn't wait to stuff his organic cucumber into your reusable sack!”

“You think you're funny, Dee?” yelled Mac “You're a single, unmarried woman in her 40s. So I got pregnant in a mobile toilet at a farmer's market, at least I had someone who found me attractive – fuck off and go find a witches coven to get kicked out of for being a total bitch!”

The grin vanished from Dee's face, Mac's words hitting all the weak spots in her already anemic self-esteem. She cast her eyes down to the bar top and regretted pushing it as far as she did.

“Why don't you just take out an ad in the Pennysaver, dude?” said Mac, shaking his head at Dennis “since we're telling everyone now how I got pregnant...”

“I didn't know it was meant to be a secret, okay?” said Dennis, feeling like he wasn't going to hear the last of this for some time.

“Well it's not anymore, is it?” Mac turned to Charlie, Dee and Frank “So yeah, I got horny and banged a dude in a toilet whilst he was shopping for vegetables and I got pregnant. Big _fucking_ deal. I try not to see the bad in situations, unlike you assholes. I'm focusing on the positive – I'm having a baby, I'm making a whole new life over here and that's pretty fucking incredible so quite frankly, I couldn't give a shit about any of the jokes you try to make about that...”

There was a pause, a beat of silence as those words sunk in.

“Was he Mexican?” asked Frank, pointing at Mac.

“Jesus Fucking Christ” muttered Mac, storming away.

____________________________________________________________

Between St. Paddy's Day and the portapotty confession fiasco, Mac was pissed and that meant Dennis needed to spend the next week or so trying to smooth things over. That was anything but easy, because of Mac's increasingly erratic hormonal outbursts.

There had been more spats and heated debates, often triggered by Dennis not yet knowing whether Mac going “fuck, I'm getting big” was a positive thing requiring celebration or a negative thing, demanding sympathy and reassurances to the contrary.

Dennis couldn't quite explain what had changed, but he felt like the pair's usual habits and routines had become stilted, bordering on uncomfortable. Mac seemed not to have noticed, but Dennis could have sworn there was this invisible source of unease in the air, a pressure pushing in from all sides making even the most habitual activities feel wrong or lacking in some way.

This feeling was bothering Dennis, stubbornly occupying his thoughts as he tried to sleep. On his nightstand, the clock read 3:43 but so far sleep had managed to evade him. Conceding defeat, Dennis got up and headed into the living room and was very surprised to see Mac awake too.

“What you doing up?” asked Dennis, as he headed to the kitchen to make some tea.

“Could ask you the same thing, dude.”

“Can't sleep – would have thought that would have been obvious...” said Dennis, filling the kettle with water.

“Well I'm pregnant dude, so what's your excuse?”

Dennis ignored the question, trying not to remember what had driven him from his bed in the first place. He joined Mac on the couch and the pair sat for a while in the quiet contemplation of two people who know they really ought to be asleep.

“Be honest with me” said Dennis, taking a small sip of tea “Is there anything I need to know about the guy who...y'know” his eyes flicked to Mac's stomach.

“Oh fuck” sighed Mac “not this again...”

“Mac, c'mon – this isn't me being a dick like the others. We're in this together, right? So if there's something you need to tell me, best get it done sooner rather than later.” he paused “are you...still seeing him?”

“No” said Mac firmly “Like I said – one-time thing. I've not had anything to do with him since.”

Dennis nodded, perplexed as to why this didn't silence his noisy thoughts as he'd hoped it would. His pensive state must have shown on his face, as Mac took Dennis' hand and placed it across the curve of his stomach. Dennis froze, the intimacy of the gesture feeling too great for so late at night. Despite that, he let Mac keep his hand there.

“That guy doesn't mean shit to me, okay?” said Mac, “this...is a Mac and Dennis baby, no third wheels allowed.”

Dennis' lips twitched into a small smile as he enjoyed the warmth and shape of Mac's stomach beneath his palms. “You really ought to get some sleep y'know, you need your rest – plus you're an absolute bitch when you're tired. Even more so now.”

“Dude, I've tried – I just can't fall asleep. It's like my brain is going a thousand miles a minute...”

Knowing that feeling, Dennis said “let's put a movie on or something – you can do your usual thing of falling asleep before the opening credits roll and then later say it was a shit film.”

“I don't do that!” protested Mac.

Whether or not Mac did have a habit of falling asleep on the couch in the middle of the movie, he did just that shortly before 4:30 in the morning, his head resting on Dennis' shoulder, one hand wrapped protectively around his stomach.

Turning the volume down on the television, Dennis brushed Mac's fringe off his face and made a note to nag the guy about getting a haircut.

“Mac?” he said, gently shaking the sleeping man to see if he'd stir. He didn't – Mac was in full-on dreamland.

With great but careful difficulty, Dennis extracted himself from Mac, lowering him down onto the couch. He contemplated waking him but decided against it. Figuring one night on the sofa wouldn't hurt, he covered Mac with a blanket, before turning the lamps off and heading into his bedroom to not sleep in his own space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double-posting chapters is the new double-texting but hey-ho, it's a lockdown. What else am I gonna do?


	8. Spicy Food, Spicy Mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous that Charlie gets to feel the baby kicking before him, Dennis sets about establishing that crucial first interaction between parent and unborn superhuman...and winds up having sex with Mac in the process.

"Hey, man" said Mac, entering Charlie and Frank's apartment one Tuesday afternoon in early April "you got that tape for me?"

"Oh yeah" said Charlie, waving his spatula vaguely in the direction of a specific pile of clutter "it's just over there, gimme a sec and I'll get it for you."

Mac stood, temporarily distracted by the delicious smell of whatever was cooking on Charlie's greasy camping stove "Dude, what are you making right now cos it smells _amazing_!" Whatever it was, his pregnant body was willing to subscribe to it's weekly newsletter.

"I'm trying a new spin on a Grilled Charlie" explained it's creator, giving the frying pan a little shake "I took a load of jalapenos and like, punched them into a paste and I'm putting that on the chocolate sauce and butter layer" he treated Mac to a broad smile, enjoying someone other than Frank taking an interest in his culinary creations "I think I'm going to call it a Spicy Grilled Charlie – you want one?"

"More than anything, dude" said Mac, grabbing the videocassette and gently easing himself down onto Charlie and Frank's sofa-bed. In recent weeks, his stomach had grown from 'plausibly deniable beer-gut' to 'full-on bump'. He considered the cassette cover, unaware that Charlie was observing him from the cooking area.

"You're er, starting to look _pretty_ pregnant there man" he said, gesturing a knife towards Mac's growing stomach before slathering a piece of bread with butter.

Mac brushed the curve of his stomach with his thumb "yeah" he admitted, sounding a little self-conscious "It's this last week or so, I've just gone-" he inflated his cheeks to signify his sudden, dramatic expansion “It's insane. I'm going to need to start breaking out my Fat Mac clothes..."

"I'm just gonna come out and say it" said Charlie, flipping one of the sandwiches over in the frying pan "I loved Fat Mac, he was always so jolly..." he paused, eyes growing distant as he recalled being on the business end of more than a few hypoglycaemic rages "except when he wasn't..."

Half-listening, Mac gazed curiously at the videotape Charlie was lending him."Why does Frank have a Lamaze video anyhow?" the realisation struck him between the eyes "Oh shit...it's a sex thing, isn't it?"

Charlie shrugged "Yeah man, I mean...with Frank, if it's not a sex thing, it's a money thing and if it's not a money thing, it'll be a sex thing..."

"Oh, nope I was wrong, it's a money thing" said Mac, pointing to some of the smaller font on the back cover "Y'see – produced by Frank Reynolds Productions, 1976."

"Huh, how about that..." said Charlie, making his way to the couch with two plates of Spicy Grilled Charlies. "Cheers, dude" he said, as he and Mac raised their sandwiches as one might a vintage Champagne.

Taking a bite, Mac immediately made noises on par with what he made that fateful afternoon at the farmer's market " _Oh_...dude!" he moaned, through a mouthful of easily the most delicious thing he'd eaten all week, possibly all month.

"It's good, huh?" said Charlie, chewing on his own sandwich.

"It's incredible" Mac took another couple of bites "gets mine and the baby's seal of approval..."

Charlie looked at Mac, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline "...the baby likes it?" he paused, thinking that through "did...did it tell you that? Shit, are babies telepathic?"

"What?" laughed Mac "nah man, it's just wriggling around like crazy in here" he pressed a palm to the left-hand side of his bump "so it must be really enjoying it."

Contemplating that, Charlie smiled to himself "wow" he said, before immediately asking "hey, can I listen to your stomach?"

"...What?"

"I wanna hear the baby." explained Charlie, as if it ought to have been plainly obvious.

Mac swallowed a mouthful of his sandwich "I don't think you'll be able to hear anything, Charlie – I mean, it's underwater or something..."

"Oh, I have impeccable hearing" said Charlie "like, I can hear every rat within a four-block radius of this apartment."

Knowing how many rats lived in and around the apartment, Mac was sceptical “Charlie, that would be deafening – that's too many rats to be hearing at any one time...”

“Yeah, I know, it's non-stop” said Charlie brusquely, “you gonna let me hear your kid or not?”

“Sure, dude – knock yourself out”

Smiling Charlie wiped his hands on his already grubby t-shirt and went to lean towards Mac's stomach “...do you wanna pull your shirt up?” he said, as an afterthought.

“You think it'll help?”

“I really do” came the reply.

With a trace of hesitation, Mac pulled his t-shirt up, feeling a little exposed but trying to remind himself that this was Charlie, his oldest friend and easily the least judgmental of the Gang...at least on certain issues. Charlie pressed his ear to Mac's stomach, eyes half-closed in concentration.

“You hear anything?” asked Mac after a little while, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Charlie swivelled his head to look up, clearly irritated “I could if you stopped chewing for two damn seconds.”

Mac swallowed “sorry” he muttered “this is so good though...”

Seconds ticked by, the side of Charlie's head pressed close to Mac's bump as he waited to hear the baby within. “I dunno man, I can't hear anyth-” he stopped mid-sentence and twisted around again to look at Mac “dude...I think your baby just kicked me in the head!”

Of course, Mac had felt the movement but he was amazed Charlie had felt it too. For the last few weeks, Dennis had spent evenings with his palm resting on Mac's steadily progressing bump, determined to the first person to feel the flicker of life within from the outside. He felt this connection was vital to the successful rearing of a superhuman.

“Yeah man” said Charlie, pressing his head back close to Mac's bump “I'm sure of it...”

The pair sat, frozen in anticipation before a further flutter made both Charlie and Mac laugh.

Charlie sat upright “Oh my God!” he said, clearly excited “That is amazing. It's so cool – it's like there's something in there!”

Mac blinked at him “Charlie...there _is_ something in there...”

Shrugging, Charlie set about eating the remainder of his sandwich “well, yeah but I mean – y'can _feel_ it now...”

With his palms pressed against his stomach, feeling his son wriggle and kick about Mac was at a loss for words. He needed to call Dennis, he needed to be here for this. Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he made a video call to his friend, feeling this was news too big for audio alone.

Dennis picked up, his frown indicating that he was already irritated at receiving an unauthorised video call.

“Dennis, Dennis” babbled Mac, his excitement making him throw caution to the wind “the baby just kicked Charlie in the head!”

“...What?” demanded Dennis, watching as Charlie leant into view, waving frantically at the camera.

“Charlie just had the baby kick him in the head – isn't that great?”

“What was Charlie's head doing that close to your crotch?” asked Dennis, wondering whether he actually wanted to hear the answer.

“He was listening to the baby.”

“The baby's underwater, Mac – Charlie wouldn't have been able to hear shit.”

Charlie leant back into the frame again “that's actually not true, Dennis” he said, waving the remainder of his Spicy Grilled Charlie around in emphasis “I actually possess incredible hearing, like right now I can hear every rat within a four-block radius...”

Dennis rolled his eyes, indifferent to the fact that both of the other participants of the call could see his reaction in real-time “Brilliant – good job, guys. You enjoy yourselves” he said curtly before ending the call.

Mac gazed at the dark screen, feeling disappointed. He genuinely thought Dennis would have been more excited – this was what they'd been waiting for. For their son's movements to be felt by anyone other than Mac. He let the phone drop into his lap, feeling like all the excitement he'd felt over the last few minutes had soured somewhat.

“That was amazing, man” Charlie said, charmingly oblivious to his friend's change of heart “I've never been kicked by something that wasn't born yet, let me tell you...”

Allowing himself to be swept along with Charlie's enthusiasm despite his worries about Dennis, Mac agreed “yeah, pretty incredible.”

“Hey, you want another Spicy Grilled Charlie?”

Mac sighed in deep appreciation “Dude...you read my fucking mind...”

\--------------------

“Dude, you've _got_ to stop holding it like, it's getting everywhere...”

“Well, stop wriggling about then.”

“Aww, c'mon! You got it all over my jeans...”

Dennis dropped the partially melted ice-cube onto a saucer with a petulant sigh as beside him Mac was brushing water droplets off his pants.

“Can we take a break?” asked Mac, sounding as irritated as Dennis felt “my stomach is literally freezing.”

“Don't exaggerate Mac, your stomach is not _literally_ freezing.”

“It _is_ freezing, you've been rubbing an ice cube on it for like 10 minutes!”

After a very sulky car ride back from the bar, Mac was finally able to establish that Dennis was jealous of Charlie and his interactions with the baby.

“I put in _weeks_ of being practically glued to your ever-expanding stomach and Charlie Kelly swoops in to steal that crucial first interaction from me at the last fucking minute?!?”

Despite Mac trying to reassure him that there would be plenty more opportunities to feel the baby move, Dennis set about making sure his presence was felt as soon as possible. He researched ways to initiate foetal movement and Mac had been forced to go along with it, if only to avoid further jealous mutterings and sulky silences. That led to him needing to endure Dennis rubbing ice cubes over his stomach...a scenario that previously he'd have been entirely down for, but the novelty had worn off pretty quickly.

“Maybe we need to recreate the conditions back at Charlie's apartment...” mused Dennis, reading over a different yet equally saccharine 'mommy blog' for inspiration. “What exactly were you two doing?”

“Eating a Spicy Grilled Charlie” explained Mac.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Oh dude, it's incredible – it's a regular Grilled Charlie with a layer of crushed jalapenos...baby just loved it.”

Dennis couldn't bring himself to imagine how many calories were in what Mac had just described. “I'm not making you that” he said firmly.

“That's probably a good idea – I had like four of them at Charlie's and that was definitely my limit...”

“Four?” repeated Dennis, incredulously “Christ Mac, no wonder the kid's not moving – you've given it a carb overload!” He scrolled a little further through the mommy blog, planning his next suggestion “what about jumping jacks?”

“No way, man” said Mac, “I'm doing a bunch of jumping jacks just so you can feel the kid kick.”

“I was actually suggesting it because you had four sandwiches in a single sitting for lunch” Dennis poked the side of Mac's bump “starting to wonder how much of this is actually the baby or whether it's just you falling back into your Fat Mac ways...” Mac glowered at him but said nothing.

“Let's give the ice thing another go” said Dennis, picking up a cube and sliding it across Mac's stomach, who winced at the sensation.

This was almost too much for Mac to endure – to have Dennis this close, to feel the comparable heat of his palms as he lazily slid the ice cube across flesh.

Mac hoped Dennis wouldn't notice as he hissed lightly as his skin burned with cold and arousal. The cold singed his flesh, tingling in such a way that he needed to repress a delighted shudder. Mac felt his breath hitch as Dennis spread those long, thin fingers across his stomach, the pressure accentuating the chill of the ice.

He pushed his clenched fists down onto the seat of the couch as he grappled to regain some sort of bodily control. Mac flooded his brain with a cavalcade of unsexy thoughts – Charlie's dead-rat bag in the heat of summer, Frank cleaning his ears out with a cocktail umbrella, Dee...

He may have been able to ride it out had Dennis not dipped his head towards Mac's groin, playing the part that so many dream-Dennis' had played time and time before.

The arousal and the embarrassment proved too much. Mac lurched forward, knocking Dennis' arm out of the way as he quickly pulled the hem of his t-shirt downwards. He tugged it over his stomach and held the fabric taut over his crotch, desperate to hide exactly how affected he was by this ice-cube incident.

“What the fuck, man?” asked Dennis, thoroughly confused. Despite Mac's best efforts, the erection was painfully obvious “Oh” said Dennis softly as he spotted it.

Wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole, Mac launched into a long, humiliated spiel, delivered in a single breathless tumble of words “I'm sorry, dude – it's-it's my hormones, I am just _so_ horny most of the time and I've tried taking jacking it and it's just not working for some reason and I've tried getting back on my apps-”

Apps plural, noted Dennis.

“and no-one's interested in me cos I'm pregnant except for one guy who was _waaay_ too into me being pregnant which weirded me out and then-”

“Okay, fine. I'll do it” said Dennis, dumping the ice cube on the saucer and wiping his damp hands on Mac's jeans.

Mac's speech screeched to an inelegant stop. He stared at Dennis, his brain working overtime to process what had just been said. “Really?” he asked, not daring to even _start_ getting excited.

“Yes” said Dennis, very casually “Your body is obviously desperate for some sort of sexual release right now and I can help. Think of me as a...martial aid. There to let you get your rocks off, no strings attached.”

The corners of Mac's gaping mouth cracked into a wide joyous grin, his face lighting up like his veins were coursing with liquid sunshine. He leant in, bringing his lips towards Dennis before he stopped “shit, wait – will you let me kiss you?”

Before Dennis could answer, Mac said “fuck it” and pressed his mouth hard against his roommate's lips, acting out a fantasy thousands of hours in the making. He rolled across the couch to straddle Dennis' lap, falling deeper into the kiss and running his fingers through those glorious curls.

Dennis could feel Mac's stomach and erection pressed against him, warm and heavy. Mac's hands wasted no time in unbuttoning Dennis's shirt, the frantic intensity of the kiss at odds with the calm, careful way each button was undone. Mac knew how much Dennis spent on his shirts – he wasn't going to let a ruined garment scupper his chances of finally having sex with his friend of many, many years.

Sliding the shirt off Dennis' shoulders, Mac's hands slipped down his back, his fingers tracing the small bumps of the spine before dipping below the waistband of his friend's jeans. He was light-headed with lust now, his already sensitive body hyper-aware of each and every sensation.

Grabbing Dennis by the wrist, Mac pulled him off the couch and towards that infamous bedroom, noting with considerable satisfaction there might soon be a sex tape with his name on it.

Mac's daydreaming about having sex with Dennis had covered every and all scenario. He'd amassed a vast catalogue of rich sexual fantasies - from wild, animalistic, 'no-holds-barred' sex in the office at Paddy's through to slow, sensual seduction with flowers and candlelight. Right now though, Mac felt time was of the essence. He had wanted this for so long but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was every possibility that Dennis would take him to the very brink, enticing him towards the last possible second before sex to only then go “ _psych!_ ”. Mac was sure he wouldn't be able to cope with the heartbreak and blue balls that would follow that betrayal of trust.

In actuality, Dennis was feeling a little swept away in the moment, despite being the one to suggest it. He'd expected Mac to be eager but uncertain in his seduction, treating Dennis to a series of cautious kisses and awkward caresses. But in fact, Mac had taken charge, each movement deliberate and self-assured, all driving Dennis towards arousal far sooner than anticipated.

They entered Dennis' bedroom and within seconds the pair were undressed and fucking. Dennis lay on his back with Mac mounting him, their movements urgent but excited.

If it was Dennis' intention was to be used as a sex toy, Mac had taken that message to heart. As overjoyed as he was to be here in Dennis' bed, the need for his own personal release overpowered any inclination to be generous. He ground his hips against Dennis', head thrown back as he satisfied his hormonally-charged libido, washing away the months of frustration and longing.

This was a novel experience for Dennis, who's track record involved him being the selfish one in bed. Despite Mac clearly setting out to get what he needed, his movements and his energy was causing Dennis to feel breathless and giddy.

Dennis reached out to hold onto Mac's hips, moaning as the pair hit a particularly quick bit of thrusting. He allowed his fingers to spread out across Mac's flesh, enjoying the flush of heat beneath. Dennis' palms swept across to Mac's bump, it's novel shape still a source of mild intrigue. Through the years, Dennis had seen many iterations of Mac's body. Slim, almost spindly. Fat but pleasantly soft and rounded. Angular and muscly with sharp corners. This pregnant body was a just another new take on an old favourite.

Somewhere in the avalanche of physical reactions and motions, come an unexpected flutter which made Dennis start. He raised his head off the pillow as he tracked down its source.

“Mac, stop” he said and the pair's rhythm stopped immediately.

“Dude, you okay?” asked Mac, brushing his hair off his face and looking at Dennis with growing concern “is this good? You still want to do this?”

“This is fine” said Dennis, and meaning it “but just...wait a second...”

Mac's eyes travelled down to his stomach, against which Dennis held his palms, fingers stretched wide to cover as much surface area as possible. They waited, each holding their breath in anticipation. After a few seconds, Dennis felt another undeniable flutter beneath his fingertips, the definite wriggle of life underneath flesh.

“Oh my God” whispered Dennis, looking up at Mac in amazement. “Shit, I-I felt that. I felt the baby!”

There was something about the way Mac was beaming at him, his cheeks flushed from excitement and exertion that drove Dennis to drape his hands around the man's shoulders and pull him (gently) towards him, kissing him with the kind of hunger he'd never experienced before.

With a fresh rush of longing and exhilaration the pair finished, collapsing onto the bed breathless but delighted in the experience they had shared.

“Dude” panted Mac, folding his arms behind his head “Thank you”.

“Anytime” replied Dennis, despite feeling it was Mac who'd done him a huge favour.

“My hormones have just been insane lately, I'm just massively horny, like _all_ the time – last week, I woke up practically humping my mattress...”

“Isn't that you every morning?” said Dennis, hoping a bit of low-brow humour would rebalance the scales of their relationship a bit.

“Shut up” laughed Mac, obviously seeing no real malice in his friend's (lover's) words. He sighed contentedly as he rubbed his stomach “really glad you got to feel the baby kick...”

“Me too” said Dennis. Jesus, this honesty thing was starting to get out of hand.

As the post-climax cool-down wore on and Mac's hormones settled onto a somewhat rational level, he began to fret “hey” he twisted to face Dennis “you don't think the baby knew what we were doing, do you?” he frowned as a further, more worrying thought struck him “shit – you don't think it _liked_ what we were doing?!?”

Dennis shook his head “No” he said “No – it's...it'll be like when you fall asleep on a road-trip, car hits a pothole and you wake up. That'll be it, we just woke it up when we were...” he considered the right word to use to describe what had just happened “moving about...”

Mac stifled a yawn, the combination of a carb-heavy lunch and an unexpected energetic sex session had depleted his already limited reserves of energy.

“Are you seriously falling asleep right now?” asked Dennis, too amused to sound annoyed.

“No” murmured Mac, despite evidence to the contrary “Just give me five minutes to rest my eyes, dude – then I'm all yours.”

Within two minutes, Mac was fast asleep.

Dennis dressed, watching his friend sleeping soundly in his bed. He pulled the covers up over Mac's bare shoulders and walked out of the room, as quietly as possible. Treating Mac to some pity sex to curb the hormonal storm raging inside him was one thing - sleeping next to each other afterwards...that was another thing entirely.


	9. Codewords and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis comes up with a perfect justification for why he and Mac can continue to share a bed but it's soon put to the test when Mac has a nightmare and needs a bit of reassurance.

Dennis spent a less than restful night in Mac's room.

Even if his brain hadn't been going around and around with all the tranquillity of a tumble dryer full of rocks, Mac's mattress made it impossible to find a position that didn't prove horrendously uncomfortable after two minutes. He wished he'd had the foresight to grab some actual sleepwear from his own room – dammit, if he was going to sleep away from Mac to avoid any uncomfortable questions about 'what this means' for their relationship he shouldn't have to do it in jeans.

He emerged from Mac's room in the morning, feeling twitchy and restless despite the tiredness that clung to his muscles. As he tried to work one of many kinks out of his neck, he spotted Mac at the table, looking both awake and anxious over a bowl of cereal.

"Hey" said Mac – Dennis couldn't help but feel that greeting had been agonised over, with Mac wanting to hit _just_ the right tone to set them up for a conversation. That conversation. The inevitable conversation.

Dennis knew that if he ever did sleep with Mac for whatever reason, be it temporary insanity, hypnotism or just sheer desperation whilst stranded on a desert island, Mac would be insufferable afterward. There would be a series of demands and uncomfortable requests for clarification: "are we a thing now?", "will you let me hold your hand in public" and "where should we register for our wedding, is Walmart too tacky?" Dennis would be pressed upon to answer - no, no and yes in that order.

"Hey" replied Dennis, hoping this small interaction might hold off Mac's elevator pitch for a relationship until he'd been able to rustle up some coffee the strength and viscosity of hot tar. As he waited for the coffee maker to perculate, he chanced a look at Mac who looked no less skittish for their brief exchange.

Dennis thought back over last night before he'd slunk away, uncomfortable at being so close to Mac after being so openly emotive and affectionate. The sex had been nice – incredible, in fact...but was it worth the emotional upheaval that followed?

Maybe. Perhaps if a balance was struck...

Dennis sighed as he took a seat opposite Mac. He cradled his cup of scalding hot black coffee as he carefully prepared his words with just the right amount of indifference "You are not sleeping in that bed..."

Mac frowned, clearly confused that this was the subject up for discussion.

"One night in that thing and my spine is twisted as shit, man" explained Dennis, rubbing his neck in emphasis "How in God's name have you been sleeping on that?"

Shrugging, Mac said "I dunno, never really noticed it..." he paused "although I did sleep _really_ well last night..." 'Skirting perilously close to dangerous territory here' thought Dennis but he stayed calm as Mac finished his thought "your bed is really comfortable..."

"You can't skimp on a mattress, Mac – we spend over 8 hours in bed every day of our lives, you get a decent one."

"...Okay" said Mac, still not entirely sure on how this conversation started or where it was headed "I'll erm...get a new one..."

After taking a long sip of his coffee, Dennis attempted to be nonchalant, hoping to share precise details about what he wanted in as few words as possible and without needing to elaborate. “Y'know...we'll need space for the baby..." Mac waited, knowing better than to jump in with a comment when Dennis was being cryptic.

"We've shared a bed before, right?" said Dennis, fixing his gaze on the table "so...does it make sense for you to buy a new mattress at this time?" he asked.

"...no?"

"No, exactly – so...let's try to clear out your room, for the baby and we can use my bed" 'our bed' he mentally corrects himself “...at least for a bit, yeah?"

Mac nodded, his lips starting to twist into a smile that warms Dennis more deeply than his scalding hot cup of coffee.

"Okay, good – that's settled then" said Dennis. He stood up and walked towards his (their) room, intent on grabbing a shower, hoping the hot water might actually give him more than ten degrees of mobility in his neck without excruciating pain. "I'm going to go shower" he explained to Mac, who was in the process of finishing his breakfast.

"Okay."

Dennis' hopes for all his desires to be painfully obvious are now well and truly dashed.

"I'm just letting you know in case you get hormonal or... _needy_ again..." he gestured to the bathroom somewhat awkwardly with his thumbs "because I'll be in the shower..."

Abandoning his cereal, Mac began pulling off his t-shirt, the message sunk in half-way through Dennis speaking.

In the shower, before things got too hot and heavy, Dennis decided he was going to set-up a codeword.

\-----------------------------------------

Weeks passed with the pair going through the same old motions with a few new twists, little interactions that could be easily denied or defended if anyone happened to look too close - amiable pats on the back, sitting closer together on barstools, brushing bits of lint off shoulders. They were just two men who offered each other a little more of their personal space than they would for others.

At home though, away from prying eyes, their connection was incredibly close and captivating, both of them seeking out new and different ways to be physical with each other through sex and other little acts of kindness - legs intertwined during movie nights, grabbing out for a hand in the middle of a deep kiss, fingers running through hair. Neither of them could quite get enough of the tactile experiences the other one offered.

As much as Dennis derived immense pleasure from Mac's eager affections, the secrecy adding a fun additional element to the mix, he knew there would come a point when Mac demanded to know what was happening.

He'd done it with the baby. It wouldn't be long before Mac wanted that reassurance for himself, that pledge of commitment to their relationship.

One night, Dennis was awoken by Mac knocking on his bedroom door. They'd slept apart for some reason and Dennis recalled feeling ridiculous, keeping to what had been deemed 'his' side of the bed despite Mac's absence.

"Dennis" hissed Mac, his voice cutting through the dark "You awake?"

"I am now" said Dennis, the tone of his voice making Mac hesitate before asking:

"Can I have a cuddle?"

"What?"

"I had a nightmare – I could really use a cuddle right now, dude...can I get in bed with you?"

"What are you, five years old?" scoffed Dennis, but even without the lights on he knew exactly how Mac would be looking at him - he'd be holding onto the door frame, hair all fluffy and gazing at Dennis with those soft, needful eyes. Even without seeing it, it was impossible to resist.

"Fine" said Dennis, throwing the covers back to indicate defeat "...you're little spoon though."

"Dude, I'm too pregnant to be the little anything" said Mac, as he eased himself onto the bed and wriggled back against Dennis. After a brief pause, Dennis draped his arm over Mac, one hand resting against his bump.

The pair settled in to sleep and Dennis was on the verge of drifting off when Mac spoke up, his voice sounding far too small and insecure "Aren't you going to ask me about my nightmare?"

Dennis groaned lightly "Mac – c'mon. You've known me long enough now to know my tolerance for hearing about people's dreams, I have the same stance on nightmares...go to sleep."

Silence descended on the bedroom. Mac contemplated whether to just enjoy Dennis being pressed against him, a warm safe shape to help him fall asleep but he was too unnerved. When he'd woke up in his own room, he'd sought out Dennis' bed as a safe refuge, but now he was here it felt just as exposed and as somber as his own.

"...I dreamt I lost the baby..."

Mac could feel Dennis tense behind him, a sudden jolt of uneasiness causing the arms that enveloped him to tighten their grip.

"Not...not like that" Mac clarified, worried about getting Dennis too unsettled this late at night. "I dreamt I had him and..." he smiled to himself "oh Dennis, he was perfect man. Just, fucking adorable...and I had him in those little baby carrier things y'know...and I had him at the bar and I put him down..." he took a shuddery breath as he revisited the nightmare bit by bit, every aspect just as painful as the first time.

"I put him down for just a second and when I look back he's gone...and I'm running all over the bar and I'm looking everywhere and I can't find him...I can't find him and no-one else helps me look, it's like they don't care..."

Dennis listened, feeling like every muscle in his body had clenched "Jesus, Mac – that sounds fucking _awful_ " he says and he means it. He rubs Mac's stomach, more for his own comfort"It's just a nightmare though, right? It's not real..." He tries to sound reassuring, but he can't shake off the feeling that he's now been given one more thing to be fearful of. A brand new concern that he never thought he'd need to worry about.

A further silence emerges, this one tense and cloying. Mac and Dennis lie there, each one consumed in his own thoughts and holding each other a little tighter.

"Dennis...can I ask you a question?"

Fuck.

This is it.

This is the demand for Dennis to put a label on their relationship, to define it or lose it...and of course, it comes right at a point where Dennis cannot walk away or else risk looking like an insensitive dick. He doesn't say anything but he waits and he listens.

Eventually, Mac speaks "do you...think I'll be a good dad?"

Dennis sighs with relief but answers immediately "Yes. Yes, I do."

"What makes you so sure?"

Resting his forehead against Mac's back, Dennis thinks about it. His own positive male role models were...non-existent. His standards for what makes a good dad are laughably low...but he's sure other people know how to be better, right? Mac had been nothing but excited about this baby, right the way back to when the only proof of its existence was nausea and a couple of positive pee-sticks – surely that was as good an indication as any of not winding up a piece of shit dad?

"You're worried about being a good dad.." he said at last "Shit parents don't worry whether they're any good or not. They just act shitty, tell themselves they're doing a great job and ignore how much they're fucking the poor kid up..."

Mac's silence belays his uncertainty. Dennis can practically hear the self-doubt, clanging about in his lover's head like a klaxon.

He reaches up to brush Mac's cheek as he speaks "you think Frank was ever kept up at night, worried about being a good dad to me and Dee? Hmm? You think Charlie Kelly's dad ever did?"

"Pretty sure Charlie's dad has no idea he exists..." mused Mac, finding that thought especially sad tonight.

"Oh absolutely no idea whatsoever, Charlie's mother is a straight-up whore but...if he _did_ know, you think he'd be worried...do you think-" Dennis nearly mentioned Mac's dad, another shining example of how not to raise a child but ultimately thought better of it. Mac's devotion to his dad was as intense as it was misguided. He stopped, his words drifting about the silence like dust as he held Mac close “You're going to do just fine” he says, eventually.

“Thanks, man” said Mac and in that moment, he feels he can ask for something, like he can request another small kindness from Dennis “can I...sleep in your bed every night? Y'know, cos my room is the baby's room?”

“Will it mean I can get some sleep?”

“Maybe...I mean we are having a baby, dude” says Mac, laughing lightly “those things cry, y'know?”

“Then fine. Now, go to sleep” Dennis closes his eyes, smiling broader than he would if Mac could see him “You might not give a crap about beauty sleep but I do.”

Less than 30 seconds of silence had elapsed before Mac goes “Ah, fuck...”

“What now?”

“I need to piss, dude – you gotta let me up!”

Dennis rolls away to allow Mac to maneuver himself out the bed, draping an arm across his eyes in exasperation “Are you kidding me? You couldn't have gone before you woke up me up over a nightmare?”

“Kid's using my bladder as a punching bag, dude” said Mac, standing up with a slight wobble “cut me some fucking slack”.

He heads into the bathroom but not before turning around and announcing “Also, thank you for doing me the honor of being the _only_ person who has had Dennis Reynolds interested in hearing about their dreams...”

“Try and make the next one a fun one, okay buddy?” Dennis hit back in retort, rubbing at his tired eyes “seriously, maybe try the old 'I'm sitting my French test and I'm not wearing pants' nightmare, you'll have my attention earlier...”


	10. Is it a Bird if it Doesn't Fly?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Dennis' hopes of figuring out their new and evolving relationship on their own terms are scuppered by Dee's nosiness, meanwhile, Charlie argues over a contentious point of bird law.

A fair and benevolent universe would have granted Dennis and Mac the time and space to navigate the waters of their evolving relationship at their own pace. Unfortunately, the universe was a dick and instead threw them a curveball in the form of a single, momentary lapse of judgment and an overly inquisitive Dee.

The Gang was due at their apartment for a movie night but Mac was in no mood to host. Standing profile in front of the mirror, he frowned critically at his changing frame and how it looked in one of his old Fat Mac shirts. He was looking certifiably, undeniably pregnant. He wondered who he ought to think less of - clothing companies for putting only the most garish of prints on anything upwards from an XXL or him for buying it. Probably him.

“What the fuck, dude?” he addressed his bump “I thought we had a deal? You don’t make me too fucking fat and I won't bug you to clean your room...”

The lack of any sort of response from inside his stomach confirmed that the baby certainly never agreed to uphold its end of that particular bargain.

Mac heard Dee and Charlie enter the apartment with their usual grace and calm; he bit back a groan and wondered whether it was too late to bail. 

“Hey - Frank’s on his way over” said Dee, her especially high and grating voice carrying from the living room “where’s El Preggo?”

“Shut up, bird” said Mac, walking out of his bedroom, still not completely sold on his choice of shirt but at six months pregnant, his options were limited. 

“Holy shit, you’re getting _big_ ” said Dee.

“Growing a baby so...that’s what happens you stupid bitch” he said in reply, hoping the combination of his tone and his very irritated expression would ward off any further sarky comments. Unfortunately for Mac, if Dee had spotted the warning she certainly failed to heed it.

“Ohhh and you’re waddling!”

“Fuck off, no I’m not.” It was a pointless protest. Mac had certainly noticed the change in his gait and if Dennis had spotted it as well he’d been smart enough not to mention it.

“No, you are - you’re like one of those fat-ass penguins in Antarctica or some shit.” 

“Dee, no” said Dennis, emerging from the other bedroom to enter this fight “you are the _last_ person that should be comparing anyone to a bird.”

Dee took a swig of beer but said nothing in retort from her spot on the couch. 

“Move over, Dee” said Mac “you’re in my spot.”

Looking pointedly at the rest of the couch, Dee replied: “I’m not moving, there’s room - what d’you mean it’s ‘your spot’?”

Mac had intended to sigh but somewhere in the delivery it turned into a deep, guttural groan “Oh my God, just move your ass - that part of the couch is just better for my back and I’m sure as shit not clambering over your stupid weirdly long legs every time I need to take a piss...”

Dee opened her mouth, fully intent on fighting for this space on a couch when Dennis spoke up.

“Dee you selfish slut, the guy’s pregnant for fuck’s sake, move your scrawny ass.”

“Fine” whined Dee, taking her sweet time in standing up “probably won’t be much room next to him anyhow” she made a jab Mac’s stomach with her unnaturally pointy fingertips before she went to join Charlie at the dining table.

Sometime after that argument fizzled out and a new argument starting about takeout plans, Charlie voiced a thought that had been bothering since he heard it.

“...I don’t think penguins are birds” he said, brow thoroughly furrowed as he considered this thought with great care. 

“Penguins are birds, Charlie” said Mac, with a little more irritation in his voice than usual for so early on into a Charlie shit-talking session “They’re birds - why the fuck do you claim to know so much about bird law if you don’t know penguins are birds!?!"

“They don’t fly, Mac” said Charlie, “they don’t fly and bird law is _very_ specific about the ability to fly.”

Dennis tried to help bring this spat to a close “I can assure you, Charlie that penguins are indeed birds. There are tonnes of examples of birds that don’t fly.”

“Like what?” demanded Charlie, his reputation as a lay-man holding themselves out to be a certified professional with zero qualifications at risk.

“Ostriches, chickens, emus” said Dennis, listing the flightless avians off on his fingers with ease.

“Oh shit” said Mac, thinking of his own example “what are those little ones? Named after the fruit and they live in Fake-Australia?”

“Kiwis” said Dennis, raising another digit to be included in the count “But we’re all forgetting the biggest, dumbest, ugliest flightless bird…” he turned and smiled at Dee, who needed a second or two to get in on the joke, even if she didn’t appreciate it. 

“Asshole” she said, taking another pull of her beer as Dennis’ phone rang. He stepped out of the living room, feeling charitable enough to save whoever was on the other end of the call from needing to endure pointless talk about flightless birds.

“Okay, so if there’s these birds right, that don't fly then answer me this-” said Charlie, waving his beer around in invitation for an explanation “-why do they have _wings_?”

The question stumped Mac and Dee long enough for Dennis to return to the living room.

“That was the takeout place. Their delivery driver got into a brawl at the old folks home, so we can either go collect the order or else it’ll be an hour before they can get another driver out to us. We’re cool waiting, right?”

“Nope” said Mac immediately, sure that his foul mood was not going to be improved by waiting any longer for food.

“No, you’re right” said Dennis, picking up that message loud and clear “I’ll go collect it. Hell, bet I can be there and back before Frank finally drags his old ass over here.”

He grabbed his jacket and the keys to the jeep from the bedroom. “Be back as soon as I can” he said and on reflex, leaned in and kissed Mac on the cheek. Mac, similarly operating on auto-pilot, turned towards Dennis, smiling at this show of affection. Within a second, the pair realised their respective errors. They froze, stuck in their fond tableau, impossibly and inexcusably close. Dee and Charlie surveyed the scene with a mixture of confusion and interest.

Dennis coughed and straightened up “I’d...I’d best get going. Don’t want to hit traffic” he walked towards the door, displaying a calmness that was the polar opposite of the cacophony of panic clattering around inside his head. On the couch, Mac picked a particularly interesting part of the floor to stare at and prayed no-one was able to hear the thudding of his heart. 

The apartment door closing behind Dennis felt like an airlock, keeping that mess contained and away from him. He was safe, for now.

Back inside that mess, Dee asked: “Mac, did Dennis just...kiss you?”

“ _No_!” said Mac, with too much force. His gaze flicked upwards to see whether Dee and Charlie had bought that lie. The matching looks of intrigue on their faces meant Mac needed to give them a better but still completely false explanation “Well, yeah - I mean, yes he did...but it was a joke, right? You guys got that...we were...doing a joke…”

“Yeah” said Dee, folding her long arms across her chest “gotta admit, I was not getting a ‘jokey’ vibe from that. It seemed pretty genuine - am I right, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded in agreement “yeah Dee, like I would describe that kiss as sweet, possibly even tender but I’d need to see it again to be sure...”

“Guys” laughed Mac, trying to think over the blood pounding in his ears “it was just a joke, it wasn’t...we aren’t - y’know, I’m just gonna check on the-” he pushed himself off the couch and hurried into the kitchen, where there was absolutely nothing that needed checking on.

He leaned against the countertops, taking a few deep breaths as the world tilted around him.

“Mac?”

Fuck. 

Dee had followed him into the kitchen, Charlie craning his neck from his spot at the dining table to see what was happening. Mac cursed Dennis not leasing a bigger apartment, or at least one with a fucking door on the kitchen.

“Are you and Dennis, like a thing?” asked Dee. 

Mac gave another short, hollow laugh “What? No. That was a joke. Do you guys not get what a joke is?” he paused “I mean...we’re having this baby together and there’s stuff that comes with that y’know, like...my back is hurting a lot right now and Dennis will rub it...and-and…we kiss sometimes and yes, there’s a sexual element-”

“Oh, gross” said Dee, repressing a shudder.

Despite hating every single second of this interaction, Mac could not resist having some fun at Dee’s expense “Yeah, but it’s getting harder y’know, as I’m getting bigger. We had this great position, where Dennis is like on his knees and I’m like-” Mac made some vague, altogether confusing gestures with his hands to help Dee visualise their sexual positions “but I just can’t swing my leg over and across his back like I could bef-”

“Oh my God” cried Dee “ _Stop_. Stop talking. It’s disgusting, I don’t want to imagine you and my brother fucking, it’s gross.”

“Erm, Dee I don’t think you’re allowed to call gay sex disgusting” said Charlie, “pretty sure that’s a hate crime...”

Dee ignored him and addressed Mac, her words curt and direct to signify she was a woman who was getting to the bottom of this, Goddammit.

“Would Dennis say that you two are an item?” 

“No” said Mac on reflex “No, you heard me...we’re not…” he went to give another unconvincing laugh to show how wrong Dee was but the full enormity of what he was saying was hitting him. 

Mac believed that he and Dennis were a thing. 

He’d carefully avoided any words like ‘boyfriends’, ‘together’ or ‘relationship’, lest Dennis hear it and decide that was the opposite of what he wanted. Mac had slipped up once, to the cashier at the supermarket. He told her that his boyfriend was paying but he’d needed to run get another something from the store. Using the word boyfriend had made him flush, the word feeling new and exhilarating but altogether correct in his mouth. They were together in everything but name.

“Dennis...wouldn’t say we’re a thing” he concluded, saddened at what that meant for him.

Dee watched Mac with critical eyes and after a pause “and would _you_ say that you guys were?”

Mac hesitated before giving a single nod.

He’d done it. He’d just admitted that what he wanted most in the world was to call Dennis his boyfriend and never have to keep that a secret from anyone ever again.

If he didn’t know any better, Mac could have sworn the corner of Dee’s mouth twitched upwards. It wasn’t a smile per se, but it wasn’t a grimace. Charlie, on the other hand, was smiling unabashedly from the other room. 

“Well” said Dee, finally “sounds like Dennis is the one that needs to get with the program.”

As Mac contemplated that, Frank threw open the door to the apartment and strode in. “Hey-oo” he cried before adding “What’ve I missed?” as he noted Dee’s self-satisfied smirk and Mac’s pensive look at the pair joined Charlie back in the living room.

“Dennis and Mac are a thing” explained Charlie, helpfully. Everyone in the room thought ‘finally’ at hearing that.

“Huh” said Frank, raising his bushy eyebrows at Mac “you get knocked up by one guy but get another guy to pay for it...wouldn’t have thought you had it in you. My dead whore of an ex-wife would approve!”

“Hey, Frank - doesn’t this mean you’re gonna be a grandpa?” said Charlie.

“Holy shit” replied Frank, as the thought of that sunk in “You’re right” he laughed “How’bout that. This calls for champagne! Charlie, get the bottle Dennis hides at the back of the fridge for when he’s trying to bang classy broads. We’re celebrating” he gently nudged Mac in his stomach “you too, mama.”

Mac watched, dumbfounded by the developments of the last couple of minutes as Charlie searched their fridge “Not seeing any champagne, dude...”

“Beer then” said Frank, perching on the edge of the couch. 

“There’s no booze in that fridge” Charlie cried, scurrying back into the living room and pointing at the refrigerator in horror “no beer, no nothin'!”

“Charlie, you idiot” said Dee, stomping past him to check for herself “you’re not looking closely enough” - she returned seconds later, wearing a similar expression of disgust “guys, Charlie’s right - there’s no booze. Why don’t you have booze in your fridge Mac, you pregnant shit?”

Mac blinked at her and gestured to his stomach “I’m _pregnant,_ I am not drinking!”

Dee’s mouth twisted into a sneer “You’re really committed to that, huh?”

“Well what about the beer you and Charlie brought?” asked Frank, growing worried at the lack of any available alcohol.

“Dude” said Charlie, his incredulity almost palpable “that was a six-pack between me and Dee.”

“Okay, guys - stop panicking” said Dee, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt “Let me get Mac’s _boyfriend_ to pick up some beer on his way back” she tapped out a message on her phone, carefully selecting the exact words to strike up the right mix of embarrassment and dread for her brother. 

“So what are we supposed to do in the meantime?” demanded Charlie, arms flailing around in annoyance “like, just hang out...together... _sober_?!?” 

“Don’t take that tone with me, Charlie” said Frank “I told you we needed more than six beers-”

“Oh, screw you-” replied Charlie before Mac was able to get his voice to rise above the rabble.

“Guys, guys! I’ve been doing this sober shit for like six months” he smiled “I got this - trust me, I can keep you entertained till Dennis gets back with food and beer...”

Charlie, Frank and Dee shared equally skeptical expressions but were prepared to try pretty much anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-wrote this chapter wearing a Bird Law t-shirt after my save was corrupted for whatever reason.


	11. Manfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac finds a fun, sober activity to keep the Gang entertained whilst Dennis returns with takeout and beer before there's a lengthy conversation about what exactly the pair should call themselves.

The further Dennis got from the apartment, the better he felt.

The idea of running away, of driving somewhere and not looking back barged it’s way to the front of his mind but he quickly dismissed it. He didn’t have any of his stuff with him...plus...there was Mac.

Dennis could only imagine the conversation that was happening back at the apartment right now. Mac wouldn’t be able to convince Dee or Charlie that that kiss had been anything other than authentic - those two were dumb but not that dumb. Mac will almost certainly be proclaiming him and Dennis boyfriends by now...

What if the Gang objected? 

Shit, what if they approved? Was that worse somehow? That the idiots and reprobates he called friends supported this relationship and gave it their blessing. Their disgusting, horrible, unholy blessing.

As he drove to the takeout place, his phone chimed. He held it up to read the message.

**Ur bf jst spilled d beans congrats daddy! ;) brng us sum beer 2 cLebr8 - D x**

Dennis had been on the receiving end of too many texts in the early 2000s so unfortunately knew exactly what Dee was saying.

“Dee, you ostrich-necked bitch” he muttered, pulling up outside the takeout place. The beer run offered a chance to put off the inevitable though. It bought Dennis another 10 minutes or so before he needed to walk back into that apartment, no doubt to an over-excitable Mac and a barrage of borderline inappropriate questions from Dee and Charlie.

A while later, standing in front of their apartment door with takeout and beer, Dennis hesitated. That urge to flee was back but he managed to ignore it. He pressed his ear against the door, to listen to what was going on inside, to gauge exactly what level of chaos he was about to step into.

There were some voices, raised and animated but there wasn’t the harsh edge that usually went with the Gang’s arguments and debates. With some degree of caution, he pressed down the handle and opened the door. 

Never in a million years would he have been able to predict the scene that lay before him.

Mac, lay on the couch, clutching a kitchen timer in one hand. He was placing tiddlywink discs on his bump as Frank excitedly flicked through a small handful of dollar bills.

“I love this, kid” cried Frank “Boy’s not even born and he’s made me 40 bucks!”

“Speak for yourself, Frank” said Dee bitterly “Kid goes left, I bet left then the little shit goes right...”

“Don’t call my baby a shit, Dee just because you’re a sore loser” said Mac, placing the last of the discs on the curve of his stomach.

Moving quietly, Dennis stepped towards the table to drop off the beer and takeout bag, convinced that none of the others had noticed his arrival. He wanted to see what exactly they were all up to. 

“I just don’t know what I’m going wrong” said Charlie, from where he was draped over the back of the couch, watching Mac’s stomach with uncertainty “I keep betting on yellow but the pattern gets thrown off and then I don’t win…”

Dee frowned “Charlie, it's a random chance. There’s no pattern...”

“So I’m just meant to bet on something that possibly  _ might  _ happen, Dee?” Charlie snorted “what a load of shit...”

“Final bets, losers” said Mac, making to twist the knob on the kitchen timer “Daddy needs a new pair of baby shoes, literally!”

“I’m puttin’ 50 on this yellow here, the one just under your left breast” said Frank, throwing down his wager with a flourish.

Mac craned his neck to look at his chest “I don’t have breasts…”

“Not yet you don’t, but wait till that milk comes in.”

“Enough yammering, guys” said Dee, putting her own bet down on the pile “hit me - this kid needs to earn Auntie Dee’s love the hard way - by earning me some cold, hard cash.”

Mac turned to the timer to 30 seconds, the ticking filling a silence rarely experienced when the Gang was together. Frank, Charlie and Dee watched Mac’s stomach with great interest and intensity, their eyes darting about for any sort of movement. Occasionally, there would be an expectant gasp or a ‘yes’ hissed under someone’s breath as one of the tokens teetered. 

Dennis held his spot by the dining table, afraid to disturb the other occupants in the room and their high-stakes game. 

The kitchen timer dinged and Mac cheered “Yes! No displacement, the house wins!”

“I take it back” said Frank bitterly, watching as Mac flicked through the pile of money he’d just won “This kid is a shit...”

By now, Charlie and Dee had clocked Dennis watching them.

“What are...you guys up to?” he asked, still holding the keys to the Land Rover in his hands as he surveyed the rest of the Gang.

“Baby Bump Tiddlywinks” said Charlie amicably, as if it ought to be obvious. 

“Dude” said Mac, smiling at him from the couch “I’ve made us like, eighty bucks - d’you wanna play?”

Dennis hesitated. Were they just not going to talk about his and Mac’s relationship? 

“Get over here, Daddy” said Frank “I’m going double or nothing. If I lose, this kid’s outta the will!”

“Oh, you guys are gonna regret this” said Dennis, abandoning the food and beer to hurry over to Mac “y’see, I have very specific knowledge about my son’s movements this time of night. Prepare to hand over wads of cash, losers.”

He gave Mac a quick kiss on the side of his head before throwing down a twenty-dollar bill “Green, right-hand side” he said. 

Mac beamed at him as the final bets flooded in. “30 seconds - off we go” he said, the ticking of the kitchen adding to the good-natured tension in the air. Dennis watched as a few of the discs twitched and wobbled, as the baby kicked about. 

“Move, baby! C’mon move” cried Charlie, his enthusiasm getting the better of him and his ability to regulate the volume of his voice “MOVE!” FUCKING  _ MOVE  _ IT, BABY!”

“Charlie’s disqualified!” said Mac, waving his still shouting friend away “Charlie tried to manipulate the game so he’s out.”

Groaning at the injustice, Charlie slunk off and grabbed one of the beers that Dennis had brought back with them as the remaining contestants waited to see if their tiddlywink piece was knocked off Mac’s stomach. There were a couple of close calls, with Dee squealing as her piece scooched sideways but ultimately stayed put. Finally, the baby delivered a single, precise kick, knocking Dennis’ green tiddlywink piece off Mac’s stomach where it slid onto the couch to be forever lost somewhere behind the cushions.

“Yes!” cried Mac, throwing his hands up in a triumphant cheer “Dennis Reynolds steals the win in the closing seconds!”

“Fix” said Frank, shaking his head, dejected at having lost so much money “it’s a fix”

“Not a fix, Frank” said Dennis, taking his winnings and passing half to Mac “just good luck and a bit of insider knowledge.”

“Dude, what the fuck is this beer?” demanded Charlie from across the room, taking another exploratory swig despite his concerns “it tastes weird…”

“It’s for Mac so it’s non-alcoholic” said Dennis and watched with dismay as the shorter man spat a mouthful of the beer right onto the floor, aghast at the very notion of a beer you couldn’t get drunk off of “speaking of Mac, I’m going to insist he get some food in him. As fun and as profitable as this game is, I’ve seen him threaten to choke out a server at Little Caesars when he got too hungry...” 

“She said it would be 20 minutes but it actually took 35 minutes, okay? That woman was a straight-up liar” said Mac, collecting the coloured discs off his stomach. 

“In a second though” said Frank “I got a few words to say, everybody grab a drink, we’re doing a toast.”

Charlie passed Mac the opened, half-drunk non-alcoholic beer as the rest of the Gang opened bottles of their own. 

Frank cleared his throat and raised his beer bottle “Dennis, Mac - you’re at the start of two pretty incredible journeys right now...a new relationship and a new baby. It’s exciting and it’s terrifying but it’s full of possibilities...” he smiled, mostly to himself “and it’s those possibilities that make life so wonderful. I envy you both, I really do. I’m old now and my prospects are getting few and far between….so you kids go and make the best of those opportunities, go make some great memories...” he nodded and raised the bottle a little higher “A toast, to Dennis and Mac and my grandson!” he took a deep swig of his beer.

The rest of the Gang were watching Frank, awestruck at the eloquence and empathy. 

"Dude” said Charlie quietly, clearly moved. 

“Oh my God, Frank. That was beautiful...” said Mac, clutching a hand to his heart and hoping he’d be able to hold off the tears that were threatening to spill down his cheeks. Beside him, Dennis raised his index finger as if to say ‘wait for it’.

“And when it’s less froggy-looking” said Frank “y’know, less weird and wrinkly...you gotta let me use the kid to go cruisin’ for snatch. Women dig a dude with a baby. It’s going to be a total bang-fest for me!”

“There we go” muttered Dennis, knowing a show of genuine, positive human emotion from Frank without some grotesque angle was impossible.

“Sure, Frank” said Mac, feeling it had just been made a lot easier to not cry in front of everyone “you can take the kid to try and meet women…”

Dennis looked at him, clearly aghast. Mac shook his head at Dennis, confident that Frank will have forgotten all about this promise by the time the baby was born. 

“Y’know Frank” said Dennis “you’re not actually the kid’s grandfather. I mean, you’re not our real Dad, so…”

“The hell I ain’t” said Frank “Bruce may have shot out the swimmers but who was the guy who raised you, huh? Who was it that paid for piano lessons and braces and all that other shit? Who sent bail money when you got caught with a couple of joints? Me. That’s who, so don’t give me any of that ‘I ain't your real Father’ crap.”

“Also, Dennis” said Dee, chiming in “it’s not like your this kid's real Dad either?”

Dennis had forgotten that crucial detail. “Touch é ”

There was a small pause as everyone looked vaguely uncomfortable. 

“You still won’t tell me if you’re my real Dad, Frank...” said Charlie, sadly.

“Knock it, off Charlie - I’ve already got two kids, I don’t need a third” replied Frank, gruffly.

A little while later, as they were eating Dee asked: “so what are you guys going to call each other?” 

Mac and Dennis shared a look. Poor simple Dee. 

“Well” said Mac, his words slow and deliberate to help Dee grapple such a big concept “he’s going to call me Mac.”

“And Mac will call me Dennis, his most magnificent and glorious lover-slash-life partner…” said Dennis smugly. 

“Not that, you idiots” said Dee, rolling her eyes “what are you going to call each other for the baby?”

They hadn’t had that discussion yet.

“Dad?” said Mac, a plate of Chinese food balanced precariously on his stomach “I mean, it’s a classic...”

“Yeah” agreed Dennis “why mess with perfection? We’ll both be Dad.”

“Both of you?” said Dee, with a small snicker.

“Yes, Dee - both of us. Is there a problem with that?” demanded Dennis

“Well, don’t you think that’s going to get a bit confusing for the poor kid?” he brushed her fringe out of her face as she thought of a few examples “Like, ‘Hi Dad, where’s Dad?’ or ‘my Dad is picking up from school today ‘cos my Dad has to work’-”

“‘Or ‘hey Dad, when’s Dad getting back from buying cigarettes'?” suggested Charlie, misjudging the tone of these situations. 

Mac exhaled as he thought about that “I guess I could be Daddy-Mac, plus I like that cos it kinda makes me sound like a rapper...”

“Yeah” said Dennis, his eyes lighting up “yeah, and I could be Daddy-Den.”

“Oh fuck no” replied Mac immediately “No, the app where I...yeah-” everyone looked at his bump “that was called Daddy-Den so maybe...not that?”

Just when Dennis thought he knew every aspect of Mac’s illicit liaison at the Farmer’s Market, a new interesting detail would come to light.

“Okay” said Dennis, trying to ignore the hairs on the back of his neck prickling in pointless jealousy “Not that then...oh! Papa.”

Dee frowned “Papa? You hoping to have a sickly old-timey British kid or something?”

“No, no - you’re missing the point. It’s continental, cultured, it signifies my position as the other parent with the respect I deserve.”

“Frank, what do you want the baby to call you?” asked Charlie, through a mouthful of noodles.

The old guy wasted no time in answering “Frank.”

“That’s really imaginative, Frank” said Dennis, sarcastically “how long did it take you to come up with that one?”

“You seriously don’t want to be called, like Grandpa or Paw-Paw or something?” asked Mac. 

Frank gave a short, bitter laugh “are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how many great men I’ve seen needing to spend their twilight years being called summat stupid like Gramgram or Pop-Pie all because one snotnosed little kid can’t pronounce Grandpa? Take your Grandad for example” he gestured at Dee and Dennis with a mostly empty beer bottle “the guy was a decorated war hero for Godsake-”.

“Nazi” corrected everyone else in the room, but Frank carried on indifferently. 

“He had this long distinguished career, won tonnes of medals, had small provinces in Germany named after him and for what? For you two shitheads to call him Pop-Pop once with your stupid chubby baby tongues and the poor guy’s stuck with it.”

“Yes, Pop-Pop is by far the  _ worst  _ thing a high-ranking soldier in the SS could ever be called…” said Dennis, genuinely astounded.

“I’m not taking any chances - I’ve worked hard my whole life to build a business empire, I’m out there banging broads most nights a week. How am I supposed to do that if this kid of yours is calling me something stupid like Pee-Poop? I’d be pissed as hell...”

Mac, who had been listening to Frank with growing concern said “okay, this entire conversation has been horrifying but speaking of piss, I gotta take a leak.” He passed Dennis his plate and angled himself off the couch, pretty sure that activity was only going to get more inelegant as his pregnancy progressed. Dennis placed a hand on the small of Mac’s back to steady him.

Dennis caught Dee smirking at him “what?” he demanded.

“Nothing” said Dee, that smirk persisting despite her brother’s warning tone.

“Dee, you ostrich-necked bitch” said Dennis, believing it was fine to re-use insults, especially if they were both hilarious, accurate and no-one else had been around to appreciate them the first time “what is it?”

“I just think it’s funny” said Dee, swirling the last swig of beer around the bottle as she toyed with Dennis’ irritation “the number of women that have stumbled through the revolving door that is your disgusting sex life and you end up getting bussy-whipped by Mac with a kid that’s not even yours…”

“Bussy-whipped?” repeated Dennis, completely unfamiliar with that phrase.

“Bussy. Boy Pussy” she glanced around, seeing only confused faces “it means the asshole”

There came a cry of disgust from the three men in the room.

“Oh God, Dee” cringed Charlie “that’s disgusting!”

“You are a degenerate” agreed Dennis, disappointed but unsurprised that his sister could sink to a deplorable new low.

“Deandre” said Frank “don’t talk about your brother’s boyfriend’s asshole like that”

“Ooof” said Dennis, scratching the back of his neck “Not erm...not wild on that word either.”

"What, asshole?” said Charlie “Dude, I think you might need to be okay with it, seeing as how you’re having sex with a dude now...”

“No, no - boyfriend” explained Dennis “It’s...juvenile. You make us sound like a couple of third-graders holding hands by the jungle gym. We’re both grown men: we drink, we drive, we pay taxes. Boyfriends sounds so...derisory.”

“Well what are you then? Lovers?” asked Dee.

“God no - too French” Dennis pondered on that point though “The issue is with the ‘boy’ part of boyfriends. We’re mature, adult men. If anything we should be manfriends.”

Charlie scrunched up his face as he considered that before testing the word out “manfriends?”

Dee and Frank did similar trials with the wording

“ _ Man _ friends...manfriends -y’know, it just feels wrong in my mouth” said Frank, at least.

By now, Mac had returned from the bathroom.

“Mac - Dennis says that you and him are too mature to be called boyfriends. How’d you feel about going by manfriends instead?” asked Dee, 

“Manfriends?” repeated Mac “I dunno - it sounds even gayer than boyfriends to be honest…”

Dennis Reynolds knew when he was beaten “fine” he snapped “Me and Mac are boyfriends, you can all stop saying manfriends now!” 

Despite feeling there really ought to be a better phrase for two grown men who are in a committed relationship with each other, Dennis felt it was worth going by ‘boyfriends’, if only for the broad smile it put on Mac’s face. 


	12. Straight Blowjobs Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac worries about whether he's taking good care of himself whilst pregnant and Frank instigates a new rule at the bar.

Whilst Dennis might have missed the illicit thrill of keeping their affections secret, Mac for one was relieved. Not only was this everything he’d ever wanted (Dennis, for him and him alone) but his baby brain was struggling to keep track of what he could and couldn’t say around the rest of the Gang, lest it arouse suspicion. He’d just managed to stop himself from loudly proclaiming just a week earlier: “oh God, the funniest thing happened the other day when me and Dennis were banging in the utility closet...”

The jokes about their relationship were also not as forthcoming as the pair expected - possibly because fat jokes about Mac were accurate, easily accessible and in plentiful supply.

“Yo!” cried Mac, holding a takeout bag aloft as he walked into Paddy’s “I got lunch, bitches!”

He dropped the bag on the bar top and extracted one of the sandwiches. “This is mine” he said, reading the near indecipherable scribble of the deli owner a few blocks away. “And this is me...and this one too-”

A neat pyramid of sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil was built on the bar, it’s construction watched with increasing scrutiny by Dee and Dennis. Oblivious to the judgment, Mac extracted another wrapped sandwich and checked the scrawl “this one is-”

“Lemme guess, Poppin’ Fresh” said Dee, snidely “yours?”

“No, Dee” said Mac, frowning at her tone and her face and just her general presence “it’s yours”. He moved to hand the sandwich to Dee, but deliberately dropped it outside of her open, hideously-manicured claws.

“Asshole” said Dee, grabbing her sandwich with a huff.

“Bitch” shot back Mac as he looked to finish matching the remaining sandwiches with their intended recipients, himself included.

"Are you fucking kidding me?” said Dee, clocking the fourth sandwich that Mac placed in front of himself.

“What?” said Mac, before he noted Dennis wearing a similar expression of concern “ _ What _ ?”

“To be fair to Dee” said Dennis, in a tone that made it clear he was never one to do such a thing unless it was completely necessary “that is...kind of a lot of food…”

“That is  _ definitely  _ too much food for one person to be eating, even if they’re spawning something...” said Dee. 

Mac’s mouth hung open, thoroughly insulted and aggrieved at this attack when all he was trying to do was have some lunch. “Fuck you both” he said at last “I’m growing a baby over here, I’m meant to be eating for two!”

“Yeah but the second one in that arrangement is a baby, you fucking fat-ass” said Dee, “you’ve seen how small those things are, you don’t need to be stuffing your face like you’re raising America’s Next Top Sumo Wrestler!”

“I need nutrients, Dee” cried Mac, gesturing violently to his stomach “I need nutrients cos I’m growing a human being and that’s complex. I could be working on something really important today, like an eye or his balls or something” he started grabbing his pile of sandwiches off the bar “you want my baby to be born without eyes...or balls? Is that what you want Dee, you heartless bitch? For mine and Dennis’ son to be born eyeless and with no nuts?” 

He shot a bitter look at Dennis, letting him know he hadn’t got off Scot-free.

“Now, I’m going to go sit in the office to eat my lunch cos my feet are starting to swell and you two are being assholes today...” he turned and walked away with as much dignity as he could muster whilst carrying an armful of sandwiches when he suddenly had a thought.

“And I’m taking the muffin they threw in for free with me” he reached into the bag and grabbed the complimentary dessert “fuck you, Dee - fuck you both, trying to make me feel bad for feeding my unborn baby…”

He stomped into the office, making a point to slam the door behind him as Dennis and Dee watched on.

Dee smirked at her brother as she unwrapped her own lunch “still happy with your life choices?” 

“Still running your mouth?” said Dennis in retort.

A little while later, Dennis felt he’d given Mac adequate time and carbs to calm down.

“Hey” he said, opening the door to the office and leaning in “y’okay?”

Mac’s hands flew up to try and cover the laptop screen, despite it not being visible from the door frame “h-hey - yeah, I’m good.”

“Whatcha looking at there?” asked Dennis, wagering that anything Mac wanted to keep secret that badly was worth having a good look at.

“Nothing. Porn” said Mac, trying to wave Dennis away, a distinct pink tinge growing on his cheeks “it’s-it’s just porn, nothing special.”

“Well, now I’m doubly interested knowing it’s porn” said Dennis, darting around to Mac’s side of the desk before the pregnant man could stop him.

There was no porn. There was a browser open with various tabs that started  _ ‘how many calories are there in-’ _ , ‘ _ am I allowed to be eating _ -’ and ‘ _ when do babies grow balls? _ ’ The main web page that was open was titled: “ _ Am I eating too much whilst pregnant _ ” with a smaller tagline of ‘ _ almost certainly yes and you’ll never be sexually attractive ever again _ ’. 

Mac closed his eyes, embarrassed at having been caught mid-way through his panicked internet searching. “Dee got in my head…” he said, pointing miserably at the screen “so I started Googlin’ shit and oh God - it’s insane, like do you know I’m not meant to have hair gel?”

“No-one’s meant to eat hair gel, Mac - have you been eating hair gel? Because that seems like a bigger issue than you having a couple of extra sandwiches…”

“No! No, there’s this blog that says I shouldn’t be using hair gel cos of all the chemicals but I’ve been using hair gel like, every day dude!”

Mac turned back to the laptop and frantically clicked on another tab “and that really bummed me out so I started looking at how many calories I can eat, y’know, to grow a baby and-” he groaned “fuck, I think Dee’s right - it’s like hardly anything dude, I can’t just eat like, twice the amount I usually do.”

“Mac...” said Dennis lightly, his eyes darting between his frenzied boyfriend and the flicker of web pages on the laptop.

“And I felt so embarrassed y’know, and guilty for being a fat-ass so I ate all my sandwiches-”

“All of them?” yelped Dennis.

Mac shot him a warning look, already feeling like every one of his choices was being analysed under a microscope without his boyfriend chiming in with his own scrutiny. 

“Not judging!” said Dennis, holding up his hands in apology but lying through his teeth “Just...impressed at the efficiency, that’s all…”

“Anyway, that made me feel really gross and nervous so I found this forum of pregnant chicks so I asked if it was okay for me to still be eating bologna-”

“Well, that was always going to go well…”

“And this  _ bitch  _ says” Mac sneered at the screen and adopted a high-pitched voice that was insulting to hear even if you weren’t the one being impersonated “‘if you truly care about your baby, you’d go vegan’ so I tell her no, that’s stupid, I’m not doing that and she says I’m a horrible mother and I message back to say, well I’m a dude, fuck you and go ahead, name a place and I’ll throw down, you can’t talk to me like that...on the internet, of all places-”

“Oh God” 

“Anyway, turns out she lives in Nevada and I got banned from the forum.”

“...You have had a  _ very  _ productive 25 minutes…” said Dennis.

“I just” began Mac, before he stopped. He bit his lip as he looked over the various tabs of articles, blogs and scaremongering news pieces. “What if I’m doing something wrong, Dennis? What if I’m hurting the baby doing something I wouldn’t even think twice about?” he spotted the muffin on the desk “shit, can I even have chocolate?” he reached forward to open another tab to enter in a further frantic question but was stopped by Dennis closing the lid of the laptop.

“Okay, we’ve clearly gotten ourselves into a bit of a spiral here” said Dennis “and I think the lesson we take from this is we ignore women on the internet, okay? In fact, just ignore women full-stop. And Mac, what makes you think you’re doing badly at being pregnant?”

Mac waved listlessly at the now closed laptop as he shrugged, unable to find the words to answer Dennis’ question without sounding ridiculously over dramatic.

“You’ve really thrown yourself into this pregnancy completely” said Dennis “I mean, you’ve been taking care of yourself, you’re not drinking...I don’t think the rest of us could do  _ that _ ! _ ” _

“Dee couldn’t” agreed Mac “even when she really ought to have been...”

“Yeah, I am starting to grow legitimately concerned for Carmen’s baby - poor kid had a rough ride in that giant bird’s womb…” Dennis crouched in front of Mac, who was still looking tense and unconvinced “the point I’m trying to make is you’re doing great - all the doctors have agreed, right? You're growing a healthy, happy little baby in here, dude” he placed his hand on Mac’s stomach “even if he is now more sandwich than boy…”

“Fuck you” said Mac, his tone straddling between amused and offended.

“You’re doing just fine” concluded Dennis “don’t let any asshole make you feel differently, especially not Dee...”

Mac was on the verge of accepting the reassurance when Frank came barreling into the office. Spotting Dennis kneeling down in front of Mac, the old man immediately covered his eyes and frantically waved at the scene with the magazine he was holding, as if to shoo away what he was seeing “Jesus Christ! What in the hell are you two doin’? No blowjobs in the office!”

The pair exchanged a look “Frank, Dennis isn’t giving me a blowjob” said Mac before adding “...unfortunately.”

“That’s true, Frank” said Dennis, standing up “we were actually having a very touching moment until you barged in with your homophobic attitude...”

Frank peered through his chubby fingers and dropped his hands once he was satisfied that there was absolutely nothing sexual going on between Mac and Dennis at that second “okay, fine - new rule. No blowjobs in the office. In fact-” he added “no blowjobs in the bar, period.” He waved the magazine at the pair “this is a place of business, we gotta be professional, for crying out loud!”

“What’s that you're holding there, Frank?” asked Dennis, spotting something that he was sure undermined the lecture he and Mac had been forced to endure.

“Skin mag” said Frank, unashamed “I like to look at naked ladies whilst I eat my lunch, is that okay with you two?”

Mac ignored the question “y’know, Frank if you put in a rule about no blowjobs in the office, that means you can’t get one either” recalling more than a few occasions where one of them had walked into the office to find Frank, cross-eyed and gurning as Artemis worked her magic below the belt.

Frank considered that with a frown “new rule” he said, walking into the office “straight blowjobs  _ only  _ allowed at Paddy’s from now on…” he waved Mac out of the chair with his nudie mag before taking a seat at the desk. 

“So offensive” muttered Dennis. 

“Where in the hell is my sandwich?” moaned Frank, glancing around the desk “Deandre said it was through here...”

“Oh, somebody ate it, dude” said Mac, barely suppressing a grin as he walked back into the main part of the bar.

“Probably for the best, Mac” said Dennis, following him but calling back over his shoulder “Frank won’t have much of an appetite when he finds out we banged on the desk last week…”

“Hey, Charlie” said Mac as he spotted the little guy sitting at the bar “you ever eaten hair gel?”

“Hair gel? Nope” came the cheerful reply “would love to try some someday…”

“Well, you’re in luck, buddy cos I’ve got a couple of tubs I won’t be using...”

At that point Cricket came into the bar, the stench of unwashed armpits, rotting garage and feral dog urine trailing in after him.

“Sup, jerks” he said “need a place to lay low for twenty minutes...apparently the crossing guard over near the elementary school does  _ not _ appreciate being offered sex in exchange for a cigarette…” He spotted Mac’s stomach “oh shit - Fat Mac’s back!”

“Not fat, dude” said Mac, clambering up onto a bar stool with some difficulty “Pregnant.”

“I think you’re both” said Dee, earning a single raised middle finger for her troubles.

“Pregnant, eh?” said Cricket, scratching at his filthy chin “hey, want me to bless your stomach? I did that all the time back in my ‘dog collar’ days?” he reached out with equally filthy fingers, giving everyone the lasting impression that it would be a curse rather than a blessing.

“No, that’s okay” said Mac, twisting away from Cricket’s outstretched fingers “I’m good...”

“Your loss” came the reply as Cricket went to grab a handful of cocktail olives from the fruit tray on the bar only to be slapped away by Dee “oh shit - you should let me do the Christening though. Don’t want your baby going to hell, right?”

“No, you’re not doing a Christening” said Dennis, not even bothering to pretend to confer with Mac on this one.

“C’mon - I’ll do it for twenty bucks.”

Dennis pretended to consider that “Cricket, that’s just twenty dollars more than our Christening budget allows so...no.”

“Fine” grunted Cricket “tell you what you guys could do for me though? Can you save me the placenta?” 

Four horrified faces stared back at him.

“What?” he said, throwing his arms wide “I need the nutrients, man - it’ll only go to waste otherwise…”

“Fuck off, Cricket” said Dennis, finding his voice in spite of the sudden pang of nausea at hearing those words.

It took several threats of violence and one well-aimed empty beer bottle to get Cricket to vacate the bar.

“You really did a number on that guy” said Dennis, shaking his head at Dee, who refused to feel responsible.

“Oh c’mon!” she cried “there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t be in exactly the same position if I hadn’t lied about loving him...”

“He’s a former priest who is begging people to let him eat medical waste, Dee” said Dennis, “and you are _entirely_ to blame for that…”


	13. You Can't Spell Lamaze Without Amaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Dennis try to get prepare for the birth of their baby with a helpful instructional video and a Lamaze class.

Dennis walked into the apartment to find Mac lowering himself onto a cushion on the floor. The television was on and the coffee table had been nudged out of the way. Dennis considered his interest piqued.

“What are you up to? Are we going to do it on the floor?”

“No” replied Mac “but kinda wish we’d thought about doing that before I got too big. I borrowed a Lamaze tape from Frank a while back, figured we ought to watch it…”

“Frank has a Lamaze tape?” 

“Yeah, I know how it sounds but it’s not a sex thing, thank God. His production company made it back in the 70s” Mac patted the floor next to him as he smiled up at Dennis “c’mon.”

Altogether less interested knowing this situation did not involve sex but did involve a dated instructional video bankrolled by his father, Dennis hesitated. 

“Dude” said Mac, a slight edge in his voice “c’mon, we need to start getting prepared. Just watch the video with me.”

“Fine” said Dennis, walking towards Mac and going to sit down on the floor next to him.

“No, not like that” said Mac.

“What?”

Mac sighed “behind me, dude - you gotta sit behind me, y’know, with your legs either side of me…” he caught sight of Dennis’ less-than-impressed expression “it’s what they do in the movies!”

“Fine” muttered Dennis, throwing in an eye roll for good measure. He shuffled around behind Mac, who gratefully leaned back against Dennis’ torso. Once in position, Dennis needed to admit this was actually quite a nice way to sit together, but he’d be damned if he let Mac know that right now. Unsurprisingly, Mac was having similar thoughts albeit ones he obviously felt able to share.

“This is nice - can we sit like this all the time from now on?”

“Absolutely not, I give it 20 minutes before you’re whining about your back aching so let’s get on the video shall we?”

The video was undeniably 70s, not least because it was on a VHS tape. 

“What a truly disgusting decade” mused Dennis, resting his chin on Mac’s shoulder as the pair watched the opening title cards “far too many people decided that brown and polyester were two great looks that go even better together…”

Their Lamaze host appeared on screen, equipped with big hair and even bigger eye-shadow. Soft flute music serenaded her introduction, turning into a high pitch squeak every so often as the audio quality hit a rough patch. 

“Welcome to ‘A Couple’s Introduction to Lamaze’” said the host, her smile stretching across her face but never quite managing to warm the glassy stare beneath her blue eye-shadow.  “Over the next hour, I’ll be here to guide you through some tricks and techniques to help you prepare for the greatest experience that two people can share” there was a cut to her facing an entirely different camera “the miracle...of birth…”

“Oh my God” groaned Dennis, as Mac cringed at the television screen. 

“Let’s get started with some gentle breathing exercises” the camera zoomed out to show a collection of five pregnant women sitting behind their uncharismatic host. “You're going to want to inhale for five seconds…” there was a pause, presumably to allow the audience at home to breathe along “and then...exhale…”

Of the two of them, Mac was the one who was following the instructions. Like many instructions he followed, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was being asked to do it.

“And again” said the host “we inhale for five…and…exhale...”

“Do women really need to be taught how to breathe?” asked Dennis.

“I know, right? Like, you do it every day of your life...you’d think you’d have the technique down by now?”

“And once more... _ inhale- _ ”

“Okay” said Dennis, picking up the remote “I think we can probably go ahead and skip this bit. If either of us stop breathing we’ve bigger problems on our hands than failing to appreciate the ‘miracle of birth’” he hit fast-forward and the pair watched as the host guided her class and the viewers through a blow-by-blow tutorial on how to breathe. The edges of the footage blurred and flickered, the already deteriorating quality of the tape being put to the test by the rigors of fast-forwarding. 

Dennis hit play, hoping for Mac’s sake this video was about to offer up something slightly more helpful than ‘how not to die from oxygen deprivation’.

“Now that we’ve mastered the breathing technique-”

“Sure have, you dumb bitch” said Dennis. 

“-we’re going to focus on keeping our minds clear and calm. During labour, taking a moment to clear your thoughts and center yourself will help you cope with any discomfort or upset that you might be feeling...”

“So...now we’re being taught how... _ not _ to think...” said Dennis.

“Who knew this was so easy?” said Mac “like, breathing and not thinking - I literally do that all the time, dude.”

“Let’s just close our eyes and allow all the thoughts inside of your head to...drift away” there was an especially lively bit of flute music, as the soundtrack guy tried in vain to justify his salary. 

Dennis and Mac did as they were told, even if it was a little self-consciously. The music added a surreal backdrop to their attempts to rid their usually chaotic minds of any and all thoughts. Seconds ticked by. 

“Jesus” said Mac, opening his eyes in defeat “why is this so fucking hard?”

“I know!” replied Dennis indignantly, relieved he wasn’t the only one finding this task tricky “not thinking should be the easiest thing, you literally don’t have to  _ do  _ anything…”

“Like, I’ll do it, I clear my head and then seconds later I think ‘oh shit I did it’ but that’s me thinking, so I need to start all over...”

“Let’s just circle back to this shall we?” said Dennis, grabbing up the remote in agitation. The tape lurched forward, with Dennis hitting play when it appeared the host was no longer sat smugly not thinking anything.

“This portion of the tape is for the daddies - we’re going to learn how some careful, loving touches can help keep your partners happy and calm as baby makes its wondrous journey into the world...”

“Now we’re talking!” said Mac, reaching up to squeeze Dennis’ arm, excited at the prospect of things getting more physical. 

“I might be wrong on this” said Dennis, but knowing that was impossible “but I don’t think you’re going to be too wild about me groping you when you’re in labour…”

Mac shrugged “I dunno, man - I can’t see it  _ not  _ helping”

A sudden jarring change of music snapped the pair’s attention back to the screen. The once creamy lighting had dimmed, adding an ominous tone to match the sultry, bass-heavy ripple of chords.

“Well, hello  _ ladies _ ” came a voice from off-screen.

Dennis and Mac froze.

“Holy shit...was that?” 

“Frank?” 

The camera panned, revealing a 1976 Frank Reynolds in all his polyester-clad glory. He smiled, the expression accompanied by an unironic ‘ding’ noise as he smoothed down the hair on his head.

“Nice toupee, Frank” laughed Dennis, grateful that if Bruce had given him anything with his genetics, it was avoiding the shame of male pattern baldness. 

On the television, 70s Frank flicked at the gold medallion nestled in his dark chest hair, his khaki brown shirt unbuttoned far lower than could ever be considered tasteful. Far too late, Dennis and Mac realised what this was.

“Anyone wanna get... _ double _ pregnant?”

70s Frank unbuttoned his trousers and dropped them in one swift, horrifying motion.

“OH MY  _ GOD _ !” cried Mac, covering his eyes as Dennis scrabbled to reach the remote, which of course had skittered across the floor as the panic set in. Through scrunched up eyes, Dennis tried to see the correct button on the remote to put an end to this living nightmare.

“Eject won’t work, dude, you need to do it on the machine” said Mac, forcing himself to peer between his fingers to see if Dennis had managed to switch off the Lamaze-cum-porno. Even if he hadn’t summoned up the courage to see for himself, the low rhythmic grunting and the unpleasant slap of flesh on flesh confirmed the video was still playing away. 

With mounting panic, Dennis mashed another button.

“What the fuck, dude - don’t hit  _ pause _ !” Mac hid behind his hands again “Jesus Christ, I think I can see Frank’s asshole!”

Finally, Dennis was able to blindly hit the right button. The tape rumbled into reverse, 70s Frank untangling himself from the midst of at least three pregnant women and ambling backwards towards the door. Only when Dennis heard the actress whose string of very questionable life decisions led her to star in this abomination go “And once more...inhale-” did he hit stop. 

Blissful silence shrouded the apartment. 

“So it was a sex thing  _ and _ a money thing…” said Mac quietly, reminding himself to message Charlie about it once the repulsion had settled down.

Dennis got up, punching the eject button on the VCR with more force than necessary. He extracted the tape and dropped it onto the floor with a disgusted shudder.

“Okay” he said to Mac, taking his phone out of his pocket “we are going to a real-life Lamaze class. A  _ proper _ Lamaze class. A Lamaze class that isn’t a porno in disguise featuring a surprise cameo by my father” he tapped out his search “and neither of us are going to mention  _ this _ or the details of the class I am going to book with Frank...last thing we need right now is him gatecrashing the thing intent on making a sequel…” 

With a class booked, Dennis looked at Mac who hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor.

“I need a hand up” said Mac, a little sheepishly.

Dennis helped his boyfriend up off the floor, the sights and sounds of his father’s porn debut (Jesus...he hoped that was a debut) unsettlingly fresh in his mind. For all he mocked it, he would have given anything to have figured out how to clear your thoughts, like the Lamaze video had instructed before it began focusing on the experiences two people share in order to  _ make  _ a baby.

“Do you think Frank really meant it about the double-pregnant thing?” asked Mac, apparently concerned about the wrong bit of that scene.

“The Catholic school’s sex education syllabus really failed you, huh?”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, Mac and Dennis attended an official Lamaze class which they hoped included less surprise group sex. Ideally none.

Their instructor for this class was the polar opposite of the actress playing an absurdly glamorous (by 1970s standards) Lamaze video host. The woman that stood at the front of class wore a long linen smock, heavy silver jewellery and to Dennis’ dismay, sandals.

“Welcome. Welcome everyone” she said, clapping her hands together “my name is Sandie and it is my immense pleasure to guide you all on this incredible journey” as she looked around the room she spotted Mac and Dennis “and I see we have some daddies with us today - welcome daddies!”

Mac halfheartedly raised his hand in greeting as Dennis looked back in mild contempt.

“We’re going to start off by practicing some fun, little breathing exercises. I like my mommies to  _ really  _ master this technique as it’s a great way to stay relaxed and feel less pain whilst in labour...so everybody, on my mark I want you to take a deep breath in through your nose, hold in your belly for a couple of seconds and then…exhale.”

The rest of the couples in the room breathed in and out under the watchful eye of Sandie as she stalked around the room. She came to Mac and Dennis, the latter of which was scrolling on his phone, breathing as normally as possible, out of spite.

“Daddies?” said Sandie, her tone cloying and condescending “are we having trouble with our breathing exercises?”

“We’ve already done this” said Dennis, not looking up from the screen in his hand.

“Yeah, we practiced all our breathing at home, so we’re good” said Mac. 

Sandie opened her mouth to challenge the obvious lack of participation but decided against it. The class continued. 

“Okay. Let’s have a talk about labour positions, shall we?” she smiled, as if this was the most enjoyable topic of conversation anyone could envisage “I advise my mommies to really  _ listen _ to their bodies whilst in labour. Women have been bringing new life into the world for eons and there is a deep well of feminine knowledge in your DNA, so let the Earth Mothers of the past guide your bodies through the ecstasy and exquisiteness of birth…”

It was at that point that Dennis decided he  _ really  _ didn’t like this bitch.

“Now, not everyone will be having a vaginal delivery…” she said, scrunching her face into a patronising smile at Mac.

“Fuck you, lady” said Mac, reflexively arguing against her point “you don’t think I could have a vaginal birth? I totally could, just fucking watch me!”

“Are you telling my boyfriend what he can and can’t do with his body?” said Dennis, “don’t think the Earth Mothers would approve of that…”

“Well, it’s-” started Sandie, before being cut off.

“Y’know, actually, now that I think about it” said Mac, twisting around to look at Dennis “I don’t...think I want to do a vaginal birth...sounds pretty gross, man.”

“Absolutely” agreed Dennis “you are also forgetting you don’t have a vagina so that kind of delivery is pretty much impossible for you...”

Sandie brushed her fringe off her face and wondered whether she could call a quick break to let her have a couple of drags of the ‘special cigarette’ she kept in the car.

“Let’s just...practice some positions shall we?” she said, trying to keep her tone excited and engaged despite the interruption. 

Way before Sandie had instructed every pregnant person in the room to go onto their hands and knees, Dennis had decided this class was a write off. The only thing that kept him from walking out the door was he wanted to support Mac...and he wanted to break this hippy bitch.

Dennis sat in front of Mac, who was on his hands and knees which Sandie assured them was ‘great for opening up the pelvis’. Dennis was certain both he and Mac would prefer that pelvis stay closed.

“I think I prefer you from the other end when you’re in this position” said Dennis, making Mac snort with laughter “it’s a lot more fun…”

“It’s time for a bit of a  _ prickly  _ topic” said Sandie, putting her hands on her hips with a flourish as the class moved on to the next topic “I never like this bit of my classes but...it’s time we talk about...pain medication. Of course, it’s every mommies right to choose what she puts in her body but it’s my duty as a Birthing Professional to help you make an informed choice-” she threw out another sickly, almost smug smile at the assembled parents-to-be “why put harmful chemicals in your body when there are other far more effective and safer techniques out there...personally, I recommend aromatherapy oils because-”

“Are you fucking serious?” demanded Dennis.

“Daddy, please - let me finish” she said, holding out a calming palm towards Dennis, which had the opposite effect.

“Sammie” he said, extracting himself from behind Mac and standing up “I have been nothing but respectful-”

“Not true” said Sandie, her usually breathy tone turning cold.

“But I cannot sit idly by whilst you fill these people’s heads with nonsense” he walked up to the front of the class and gestured to the other participants “you are feeding these people a line of bullshit. I’ve been doing some reading and I feel it is  _ my  _ duty to be the voice of cold, hard truth in this situation-”

“That won’t be necessary” said Sandie, trying to shoo Dennis back to his spot.

“Now, let’s talk about pain medication, for real though” said Dennis “hands up who wants to be absolutely off their faces during labour?”

With various degrees of hesitation, almost all of the women raised their hands as well as one overly honest dad at the back.

“Good” said Dennis “that’s good. You’re giving birth - if you’re not absolutely tripping balls then what's the point? What are you going to do instead?” he gave a short laugh “breathing exercises? Hypnotism? Aromatherapy oils, for Christ’s sake?” 

He turned to Sandie and shook his head at the level of unprofessionalism “you think anyone ever had open heart surgery and ‘breathed their way through the pain’? Do you anyone goes for hypnotism when their appendix bursts? No - we do things the right way, the  _ American  _ way - we get good and fucked up on mind-altering drugs, dammit!”

“Yeah!” chimed in Mac. 

“I’m going to need you to sit down” said Sandie, following Dennis as he paced in front of the class, his argument against an all-natural, home-grown, bohemian birth hitting its stride.

“We’ve not even talked about the really gross bits of labour yet” said Dennis “like the fact that you will, in all probability, shit yourself...or vomit...or both, at the same time. Now, Sammie was never going to tell you that...”

“Sir” said Sandie, the saccharine tone and affectionately referring to Dennis as ‘daddy’ now long gone “return to your seat.”

“And what about the vaginal tearing? I mean, you’re going to be pushing a seven pound monster out of something the size of a grapefruit and that is going to cause some serious strain so...you’re going to want to pray you get cut before you tear…”

There was a ripple of horror and revulsion through the other attendees. One woman started to cry. 

“These ‘scare tactics’ are helping no-one” said Sandie firmly. 

“Scare tactics?” repeated Dennis, thoroughly offended “ I’m not trying to scare people, I’m telling them the truth, something  _ you  _ weren’t prepared to do. It’s a fact that many women need an episiotomy and yes” he smiled at Sandie “I do know the medical term for it. Me and Mac read up on it.”

“That’s true” said Mac, looking around at his fellow classmates, all of whom looked back in disgust or shock “and it is  _ horrifying _ ...if I wasn’t gay before I sure as hell am now…”

“Okay, enough” said Sandie, her patience now exhausted “I have  _ never  _ had to do this in all my 28 years as a Birthing Professional but I am going to need to ask you two to leave...”

Dennis considered that request with a frown “it’s because we’re gay, isn’t it?”

“No! It’s because you-”

“Mac, let’s go” said Dennis, stepping away from Sandie to help Mac up off the floor “we thought this was a tolerant, accepting Lamaze class...but it appears we were wrong...”

The pair made their way to the door, picking a path through the pairs of shell shocked expectant parents. Dennis made sure to enjoy the view from the moral high-ground as he left. 

“We came here today thinking we would be welcomed but instead we’ve received only scorn and judgement...especially from that guy” he pointed at one of the dads, who spluttered at the baseless accusation. 

“It’s sad” continued Dennis, calling over his shoulder as he walked away “to see that discrimination and intolerance are still so widely accepted, nay encouraged in this day and age. My boyfriend and I came here to learn about how to prepare ourselves for our baby…” he shook his head “I can only hope that he grows up in a world that’s far more accepting than this one we live in right now...a world free from prejudice and animosity.”

“ _FUCK OFF!_ ” screamed Sandie, all decorum lost.

“Whoa there, Samanatha. Calm down, do a couple of those breathing exercises, they’ll help you chill out” with that parting shot, Dennis slipped out the door to join Mac in the corridor. “Well, that was a complete waste of time and money…”

“Not entirely, dude” said Mac, extracting an anatomical model of a pregnant belly and fetus from his hoodie and proudly showing it to Dennis “I stole this on the way out…”

“Why?” asked Dennis.

“Frank’s birthday.”

“That’s so fucking weird...he’s going to love it.”


	14. Cribs and Chance Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie tries to help Mac source a crib for the baby whilst Dee teases Dennis about his body for a change.

A few days after the disastrous Lamaze class, Mac and Dennis headed to the mall in search of baby furniture, with an inquisitive Charlie tagging along.

The pair were lurching violently between two diametrically opposed moods in this pregnancy: cockily overconfident or utterly overwhelmed. As they wandered through racks of baby clothes, stroller displays and maternity wear, the mood abruptly swung to ‘overwhelmed’. 

“Do babies really need this much stuff?” asked Mac, eyeing up a bottle disinfectant machine like it might grow fangs and bite him.

“I know, like...why do babies need an air horn?” Charlie brandished a box at Mac and Dennis. “Like I’m pretty sure that’s bad for their little ears…”

“That’s a breast pump, Charlie,” said Dennis.

“Really?” Charlie considered the box with fresh interest. “Hey, outta interest...do you think this would work on say, a cat?” 

Mac shared a concerned look with his boyfriend before daring to ask, “Why would you want to use it on a cat, Charlie?”

“For cat’s milk, obviously...”

Dennis wrenched the box from Charlie’s hands and thrust it back on the shelf. “No, Charlie - you are not milking any cats--” he huffed irritably, dumbfounded by the sheer scale of choice available and Charlie’s plans involving feline dairy. “Let’s try and start simple - what does the kid need most of all?”

“A bike,” said Charlie.

“A bed,” corrected Dennis. “Let’s look at a crib and we can...figure out the rest later?”

They found the display of cribs, each one carefully dressed in clean, crisp baby bedding and adorned with a mobile. 

“Holy shit,” said Dennis, flicking the price tag with his fingers. “This stuff is expensive!”

Mac and Charlie craned in to look at the price. 

“What the fuck, man?” said Charlie. “My bed is no-way  _ near  _ that expensive!”

“You sleep on a pull out sofa bed I’m pretty sure you took in from the alley, Charlie so I’m not surprised…” said Dennis.

“How can baby furniture be this expensive?” asked Mac, wandering towards another equally costly crib. “Like, it’s smaller than regular people furniture, so shouldn’t it cost less?”

“Starting to feel there’s a bit of racket going on here with all this baby stuff...” said Dennis.

“You know,” said Charlie, toying with the spaceship mobile hanging over one of the $500 cribs. “I could build you guys a crib...”

“No thanks, Charlie,” said Dennis automatically.

Sensing that his offer was being unfairly rejected, Charlie protested. “Why not, man?”

“This doesn’t really feel like something you’d be good at,” said Dennis, as amicably as possible.

“What are you talkin’ about, I’m great with my hands,” he turned to Mac. “Back me up, man!”

Mac cringed. He always hated being caught in the middle of a Charlie-Dennis spat. 

“Kinda,” said Mac, hoping to straddle this particular fence at least for a bit. “But...I dunno if your hands would be good at, y’know...building a piece of baby furniture from scratch.”

Charlie scoffed at the lack of confidence in his building abilities.

“You don’t possess the fine motor control for such a delicate task like this, Charlie,” said Dennis, putting a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder only to have it shrugged off. “You are good with your hands but more in the punching, clawing and scooping variety. I just think that if we gave you money to buy all the materials to build a baby crib, we’d end up with something that was horrifically dangerous and structurally unstable at the end of it…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t  buy  stuff to build it,” said Charlie offhandedly, picking up a teddy bear from a nearby shelf and examining it. 

Dennis frowned. “Then...where would you--” he closed his eyes as the realisation dawned. “You’d go scavenging in the sewer, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, dude...” murmured Mac, feeling Charlie just put a bullet in the head of his own argument. 

“What?” demanded Charlie. “You think I’m going to let you guys pay me to go  _ buy  _ wood...the stuff that grows from trees?” he snorted at the very notion. “It’s a giant scam. Why buy it when there’s just tonnes of materials you can get for free. You guys have  _ no  _ idea the amount of perfectly good stuff that there is down in the sewer…”

“Charlie, our child is not going to sleep in a sewer crib - I never thought I’d have to say this but that is non-negotiable,” Dennis waved his hands to indicate this discussion was over, but Charlie failed to pick up on that message.

“Fine then,” he spat, crossing his arms and crushing the teddy bear close to his chest as he did so. “Well I guess you guys are gonna need to find some money to  _ buy  _ a crib for your stupid baby, like a pair of chumps!”

“Don’t call my baby stupid, Charlie,” warned Mac.

“Y’know what - we tried to tackle something too big too soon,” admitted Dennis, feeling a headache building at the base of his skull. “We just need to buy  _ something  _ for the baby. Anything really. A quick win, y’know. To help us feel more prepared - Mac, what d’you want?”

Mac froze as he thought about it. “I want one of those baby backpack things, where you carry the kid on your chest. That looks adorable as shit, man.”

“Yes,” said Dennis, snapping his fingers at Mac. “You and I are on the same page, buddy. You bet everyone is going to be checking out the guy with the baby on his front. Good call.” He turned to Charlie and tried to make amends for the crossed words earlier. “What about you, Charlie - what’s your suggestion?”

“I think, the kid needs a teddy bear,” Charlie waved the slightly squashed toy about. “Not this one though, this one’s mine, I’m buying this for me...”

The three men left the store, no closer to having a fully equipped nursery for the impending arrival but feeling proud of themselves nonetheless.

“Hey I’m gonna get a coffee,” said Dennis as they passed through the food court. “You guys wait here.”

“Get me a soft pretzel,” Mac yelled after him.

Feeling like an opportunity had presented itself now that he and Mac were alone, Charlie said, “Y'know, I really could make you guys an  _ awesome  _ crib…”

Mac sighed. “Charlie, not gonna happen, dude...just let it go.”

“Yeah but--”

A voice cut into the conversation, tinged with shock.

“Mac?”

The pair turned to find a tall, slender man with a shaved head, his gaze flicking between Mac’s face and stomach. That same stomach sank as Mac realised who this was so he froze, wordlessly nodding at the greeting. 

“We met on an app,” continued the man, “about...seven months ago?” There was another deliberate nod at Mac’s bump.

“Yeahhh...” cringed Mac. This was a conversation he  _ really _ hoped he’d never need to have.

The man with the shaved head exhaled deeply. “I think you and I need to have a talk, yeah?”

“Oh, I  _ really  _ don’t want to do that...” said Mac, but the look on this man’s face indicated he wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer.

“Fine. Charlie, wait here,” said Mac. “Tell Dennis I’ll be right back...I’ve got something to take care of…”

He walked away with the man, the awkward energy between them painfully obvious as they took a table in the food court. Charlie watched, his teddy bear clutched under his arm as the conversation played out. 

“Hey,” said Dennis appearing at Charlie’s side with a hot black coffee and a soft pretzel. “Where’s Mac?

Charlie gestured to the pair. “This guy comes up and says he met Mac on an app seven months back...” his words slowed as he spoke, the full reality of what he was saying dawning on him. “Holy shit!” he cried, attracting the attention of some of the other shoppers. “Do you think that’s him? The guy that--” he mimed a pregnant belly with his hands as Dennis looked on.

This was someone who Dennis hoped he would never have to see. 

The man. The faceless stranger who got Mac pregnant now had a face. It was a stupid face, with ridiculously sharp cheekbones. From the length of leg crossed under the table, this guy was tall and had far too many tattoos to be trustworthy. 

Dennis watched, the skin beneath the collar of his shirt starting to burn as Mac and this man, this horrible fertile, farmer’s market shopping man, shared a joke about something. 

“Charlie,” said Dennis, thrusting the soft pretzel and shopping bags into the shorter man’s hands. “Tell Mac I’ve headed home.” He scowled at the shaved-headed men as he continued to talk with Mac. “Maybe Mr. Fertilizer here can give you guys a lift…”

And he turned and walked away, the coffee in his hand feeling cold compared to the red hot rage that was surging through his body.

\-------------------------------------------------------

The heat of Dennis’ anger had only cooled slightly by the time Mac returned to the apartment hours later. True, Dennis had been nursing that vexation, feeding it image after image of Mac and this bald, inked up stranger talking and laughing and kissing and fucking.

“Hey,” said Mac, a tad cautiously as he walked in the door. “You okay? Charlie said you just took off…”

“Oh I’m  _ fine, _ ” said Dennis, his voice sounding like he was anything but fine. “I’m dandy, I just didn’t want to interrupt your cute little meet-up with the guy that--” the words caught in his throat, so he waved at Mac’s stomach.

“Dude, is that what this is about?” Mac sighed and walked towards the couch where Dennis was sat, arms firmly crossed in righteous indignation. “He bumped into me and obviously he wanted to talk about this--” Mac ran a hand over the curve of his stomach. “I tried to avoid it but the dude was really insistent…”

“Oh, did he insist?” snapped Dennis. “Cos when I saw you two, you were having a pretty cosy chat and it did  _ not  _ look like something you needed to be forced into at all.” He got up from the couch to pace around the room. 

“Dennis, c’mon--”

“No,” said Dennis, the flames of his resentment starting to burn bigger and brighter. “I will not ‘c’mon’ - I was gone for five fucking minutes to get you a soft pretzel and I come back to you making heart eyes at the bald guy who railed you in a toilet?”

“You’re overreacting,” said Mac, closing his eyes in frustration. Dennis was well and truly off on one right now and it seemed like this one would take hours to calm him down.

“I am  _ not  _ overreacting, Mac!” shouted Dennis. “ _ Excuse _ me if I’m upset at the idea of the man I love having an intimate catch-up with his fucking sperm donor!”

Mac’s face went slack and there was a beat of silence between the pair as those words hung between them.

“You...love me?” he said at last, gazing at Dennis intensely. 

Dennis frowned and ran back through the words he’d hurled at his boyfriend seconds before, scanning for any evidence of that L-word. 

Fuck. 

He’d said it.

Dennis opened his mouth fully intent on denying the confession, to convince Mac that he hadn’t heard what he thought he’d heard but it was pointless. He could see the smile growing on Mac’s lips, he could practically feel the joy radiating off him like a solar flare.

“Fuck!” cried Dennis. “God, this is  _ so _ typical of you! Start an argument and force me into saying that I love you, robbing me of the chance to say it on my terms and in my own way…”

“You love me,” repeated Mac, awestruck. 

“Not right now I don’t!” said Dennis, hoping he could sound like he meant it, even though his voice was warming as he basked in Mac’s unapologetic happiness.

“Nu-uh,” said Mac, taking a step towards him. “You said it. You said you love me. You love me, dude.”

“I can take it back,” said Dennis. “Very easily - I am still very mad at you right now...”

“Take it back all you want,” teased Mac. “But I’ll know the truth, which is that you love me. Not like, or  _ like- _ like...you love me.” He beamed at Dennis.

“Fine,” said Dennis, as moodily as he could muster. “I love you, happy now?”

Mac threw his arms around Dennis’ neck and kissed him, the grin on his lips not shrinking even a little bit.

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” asked Dennis, trying to fend off the embarrassment at being the only one making grand declarations of affection.

“Dude,” laughed Mac. “I have been saying I love you at  _ least  _ once a week for the last decade…”

“Well, I still want to hear it now so c’mon - out with it.”

“I love you,” said Mac, years of longing colouring every syllable of every word. “I fucking love you, Dennis.” He paused and wondered whether what he was about to say would ruin the moment. “You really don’t have the worry about…” he hesitated. “Y’know,” he dropped his eyes down to his stomach as it pressed against Dennis. 

“You sure about that?”

“Absolutely,” said Mac “I told him all about us and that we were gonna do just fine on our own with the kid and...he seemed kindly relieved. He wished us all the best but I think he’s pretty happy not to be involved...”

“Seems a shame we couldn’t have gotten some child support out of him,” mused Dennis. Whilst his feelings towards the man in the portapotty were decidedly negative, this guy’s money was a different matter entirely. “We might be able to get a decent crib then...” 

“I sorted that, too,” said Mac, clearly very proud of himself. “I called Frank and I told him that as this kid’s granddad, he needs to help us out and Frank said no-”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” said Dennis. 

“So, I put Charlie on the phone and  _ boom _ ! We got a crib - it’ll be delivered next week.”

“Excellent,” said Dennis. “Although I am concerned Frank will put his hand in his pocket for Charlie rather than his own literal grandchild but let’s remember that for the future. Charlie Kelly is our scruffy little debit card straight to the bank of Frank...”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Dee looked up from her spot behind the bar and smirked. “Someone’s getting a belly,” she said, her sing-song voice perfectly pitched to irritate.

“Told you before,” said Mac, not even bothering to look up from the newspaper he was reading. “Growing a baby, you stupid bitch.”

“Not you,” spat Dee. “I’m talking about Papa Bear over there,” she pointed at Dennis, who turned around to see who his sister had the sheer unmitigated gall to address in such a way. There was no-one behind him.

“Me?” he asked, amazed his sister would even think something so preposterous. “Are you insane? What are you talking about?”

“Getting a bit of a gut there, Dennis,” said Dee. “You sure Mac’s not put his own bun in your oven?”

“Shut up, bird,” said Mac, as he watched Dennis look down at his torso. 

“I’m not-” started Dennis. “I’m...my stomach is flat, Dee.  _ Flat. _ ” He said, pressing the fabric of his shirt down to emphasise his point only to feel evidence to the contrary beneath his fingers. Not prepared to admit Dee might be right on this one, he persevered. “I have the physique of a marathon champion...if anything I have too little body fat, so kindly keep your giant bird beak shut...” 

He stormed past Mac and disappeared into the men’s toilets, to commence his meltdown in private.

Mac sighed heavily. “Do you have any idea of the amount of trouble you’ve caused?” He asked Dee as he hauled himself out of his chair.

“Yes,” replied Dee pleasantly, altogether rather proud of herself. 

Mac entered the bathroom where Dennis had holed himself up in a cubicle.

“Hey,” said Mac. “Don’t listen to Dee, man. She’s a bitch.”

“She’s a bitch alright,” said Dennis. “But she’s also right. That fucking bitch is right...Mac, I...I think I’ve put on a little weight...”

Mac remained deadly silent as he struggled to find the right words to say.

“Oh my  _ God, _ ” said Dennis, appalled at the lack of immediate disagreement and flattering compliments from his boyfriend. “You agree, don’t you? You’ve noticed…”

“Dude, get out from the toilet - I’m not having a discussion like this with you through a door that has ‘Artemis pegged Frank 2013’ graffiti on it...”

There was a moment of silence as Dennis sulkily considered whether to emerge from his hideaway. He unlocked the door and stepped out, frowning at Mac all the while.

“Of course I’ve noticed dude and I didn’t want to mention anything because I didn’t want this to happen,” he gestured vaguely at Dennis and his overreaction. “You know why I think you gained some weight?” asked Mac.

Dennis self consciously crossed his arm across his chest as he shrugged but said nothing in reply.

“You’re eating with me. You’re eating actual meals for the first time in like, a fucking  _ decade _ , man,” he sighed. “And I didn’t want to ruin that by pointing out that you had gained a little weight..”

“Well, you should have pointed it out, Mac,” said Dennis, feeling moved by Mac’s concern but still disgusted at the concept of gaining any weight. “Do you have any idea how it feels to have your body changing completely out of your control?”

Mac raised an eyebrow and gestured to his bump.

“Well...yeah, okay...” muttered Dennis, who stared sulkily at the drain cover on the floor.

“I just thought it was better to let your body...y’know, recover a bit. You’ve been starving yourself for years, man...and...” Mac shrugged, altogether uncertain as to how Dennis was taking all of this. “It made me feel better, cos you were looking healthier and you didn’t look like you were about to faint half the time…”

Dennis had been feeling pretty good lately. That usual ear-ringing rush of lightheadedness he got whenever he took the stairs was absent, he was sleeping better and he had more energy. Quite apart from that, he’d enjoyed the time with Mac and with food: nights on the sofa with a movie and takeout pizza, stopping for doughnuts and coffee on their way to the bar. 

“Do you...still find me attractive?” Dennis kept his head bowed but looked at Mac through his eyebrows.

“Dude, are you insane?” said Mac, reaching forward and pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re fucking gorgeous, now more than ever because I’m not worried about you passing out when we’re banging...”

Dennis stifled back a chuckle. 

“And I also need you to be as healthy as you can be, man,” continued Mac, on a more serious note. “For me and the kid...” as if on cue, the baby kicked, apparently objecting to being squashed by the hug.

Dennis hadn’t thought of it like that.

“I just want you to be happy, Dennis,” said Mac, quietly. “And I’ll do everything I can to make you happy…but I need you to help me with that, okay man?”

He nodded, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Mac. The pair stood in the filthy bathroom, oblivious to grime and squalor as they shared a tender and honest moment with each other. The door to the bathroom creaked open as Charlie popped his head in. He looked at Mac and Dennis holding one another and felt it was safe to slip inside.

“Hey,” he said. “Dee told me to come in here and call both of you fat but I really don’t want to do that so...can we just pretend? Like, if she asks, you tell her that I said it and it made you both mad or sad or whatever the shit it is she wants…”

“Sure thing, Charlie,” said Mac, his arms still draped around Dennis’ neck.

Charlie loitered for a second or two feeling left out before he raised his arms slightly, requesting permission to get in on the hug. Dennis beckoned him over and three men stood in a fond embrace.

“Heard you scored us a crib, Charlie - nice one,” said Dennis, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Pft, yeah but it’s no big deal,” said Charlie, a tad bashfully. “Besides...I got a breast pump outta it so…”

Over Charlie’s mop of unruly hair, Mac and Dennis shared a look, both vowing to decline any offers of a hot drink from Charlie for the foreseeable future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie ended up being adorable AF in this chapter.
> 
> Huge thanks to Kelly for Beta'ing this mamajamma.


	15. You're Whalecome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis tussles with flat-pack baby furniture and Mac's moaning about his size descends into a very depressing conversation about endangered whales.

For well over an hour, Mac had been listening with a growing sense of dread as Dennis set about building the flat-pack crib. While he was no stranger to a Dennis Reynolds outburst, Mac was getting increasingly worried, especially when it reached the stage where Dennis was combining swearwords into something entirely new and incredibly offensive. He eventually felt compelled to intervene when he heard Dennis shout “mother _ shitting _ dickfucks!” loud enough to elicit a cry of objection from their next-door neighbours through the wall. 

“Hey,” said Mac, as loudly as he dared, opening the door to his old room “how’s it going?”

The look on Dennis’ face made him immediately regret asking. The floor was littered with crib components, instruction pages and hardware tools. His boyfriend looked frazzled, a fine layer of sweat across his forehead.

“Fucking terrible, Mac” snapped Dennis, standing up and raking his fingers through his hair “Just fucking awful!”

Mac surveyed the carnage, holding back a sigh. He’d asked to help. Begged even. Assembling some flat pack furniture didn’t feel too arduous but Dennis had insisted Mac not get involved. 

“Why is this so difficult?” said Dennis, demanding an answer off of Mac, as if he was personally responsible for obtuse instructions and fiddly screws. He dragged a hand down his face, leaving a smear of crimson on his cheek.

“Dude, are you bleeding?” said Mac, grabbing an old t-shirt from the chest of drawers that hadn’t been moved to their shared bedroom yet. He gently wrapped the fabric around Dennis’ palm that was sporting a nasty looking cut.

“I punched a piece of wood...forgetting that I’d just put a screw in it” admitted Dennis, using his other, uninjured hand to rub the smear of blood off his face. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take over?” asked Mac.

“Yes I’m sure. You’re far too pregnant to be attempting anything like this. I doubt you can even reach the floor at this point...”

“It’s just you seem to be having some...well, trouble.” Mac pointed at the scattering of screws and wooden bits of crib, all still very much unassembled but looking slightly bashed up.

“It’s not my fault, Mac” said Dennis, holding his bandaged hand “these-these instructions are insane” he grabbed a page off the floor “y’see - this needs to me to have completed step five  _ before _ I even attempt step one.” He flicked the page in annoyance “I think they’ve been badly translated, listen to this - listen to what I am being asked to do: ‘in the act of construction, doing be certainty that rod A is put into hole B until satisfaction’...” 

Mac bit his lip as he held back a laugh.

“Don’t” said Dennis, knowing exactly where this was headed “don’t you fucking say it.”

“Dude, I already did that step like, 7 months ago...” said Mac, knowing it would cost him but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

“Jesus fucking Christ” muttered Dennis, deciding to ignore his boyfriend’s childish attempt at humour. “And look - listen to this ‘hold still and rotate’...what does that mean? Who wrote these?”

Mac shrugged “well, just ignore the instructions then...follow your instincts?”

“My instincts?” repeated Dennis, appalled “I don’t have any instincts for this kind of stuff! This is menial, this is grunt work! It’s blue-collar bullshit that is, quite frankly, beneath me…”

“You work at a bar, Dennis...”

“A bar that I  _ own”  _ corrected Dennis “I own the bar, that makes it white-collar.”

Mac allowed himself to sigh. Dennis not letting Mac help was one thing, but having to listen to Dennis act like this task was beneath a man of his stature when in actuality he just sucked at building flat-pack furniture...that was another thing entirely.“What am I meant to do, Mac?” said Dennis, noting his boyfriend looking anything other than sympathetic. “Give up? Just throw in the towel and admit that I have been bested by a box of wooden slats and cross-head screws?”

“No” replied Mac sarcastically, “I think our son needs to spend the first years of his life sleeping in a sock drawer as you can’t admit you’re shit at DIY…” he left the room, his patience for Dennis melodrama now fully depleted. 

“What’s our alternative?” Dennis yelled after him, before following him to the living room to continue the argument in a new setting. “Hmm? If I can’t do it and you’re too pregnant to do it, what are our options? Charlie is a ham-handed illiterate, Frank is a near-sighted degenerate and Dee is-” he stopped. “Oh my God...Dee. Those giant claws are powerful but...very dexterous.” He briefly considered the idea, finding only more positives “plus...she should know all this from Carmen and her baby…”

“Dude,” said Mac, easing himself down onto the couch “how are you going to get Dee to come build a crib for us? You know what she’s like.”

“Leave that to me,” said Dennis, tapping out a message on his phone. “I’ve been manipulating that bitch since before I was born…”

Within an hour, Dee was at the apartment.

“Hey,” she said, barrelling breathlessly into the living room, handbag swinging off her arm. “I’m here - what’s the emergency?”

“Emergency?” asked Mac from his spot on the couch. 

Dee wiped a strand of hair off her sweaty face “Dennis said there was an acting emergency.”

Mac looked at Dennis “was that what you told her?” he asked.

“Yup,” said Dennis, who smirked at the simplicity and brilliancy of the lie. 

“And you believed that?” Mac asked Dee.

“Yeah…” admitted Dee, seeing now how foolish she’d been to believe her brother had actually needed her assistance with a crisis of the dramatic persuasion.

“That is tragic...” concluded Mac.

“Look how quickly she came over” laughed Dennis. “Look at her, she’s out of breath - Dee, did you honest to God run here? For an  _ acting _ emergency!?!”

“Shut up, ya dumb dicks,” said Dee, “or else I’m going to regret what I do next” she fished around in her giant, garish handbag and extracted a ball of fabric. “Here” she threw it at Mac as he walked towards her.

Mac unfolded the fabric. It was an Eagle’s jersey, brand new and this season but curiously small.

“Dee, I think you might want to return this,” said Mac, holding up the shirt. “It’s way too small, even if I wasn’t pregnant…”

“It’s for the baby, dumbass.”

With a small gasp, Mac considered the garment anew.

“If it’s for the baby then it’s far too large,” said Dennis, eyeing up the size of the jersey “I know Mac’s pretty big at the moment but babies are kinda small, Dee.”

“It was the smallest size they had” explained Dee, “it’s for a one-year-old but I figured the kid can grow-” she was cut off by Mac suddenly grabbing her into a very tight hug, clearly overwhelmed by the thought and generosity of the gesture. 

Over Mac’s shoulder, Dee looked to Dennis for help. 

“Hormones” mouthed Dennis.

Mac let go of Dee “did...we do that right? That felt wrong…” he frowned “should we try it again?” he went in for a further hug but Dee backed away. 

“No, no thank you,” she said. 

Shrugging to himself, Mac went back to admiring the shirt that felt impossibly small in his hands.

“So, what did you actually trick me over here for?” said Dee to Dennis, who strode towards Mac’s old room, gesturing for her to follow. 

“Whoa!” Dee exclaimed, seeing the screws and wooden components scattered across the floor. “You guys have an IKEA explosion or something?” she snorted at her own joke and looked to Dennis and Mac for an explanation.

“It’s a crib…” said Dennis “or at least it will be once you’re finished with it…” 

“What?”

“We got most of the blood off...” said Mac, helpfully. 

“I’m not building a crib for you dicks,” said Dee “why would you think I’d do that?”

“Well,” said Dennis “apart from your giant, industrious hands we assumed you had some experience with all this from Carmen…”

“Nah'' said Dee, crossing her arms “I never paid any attention to that...although...” she considered the pieces of flat-pack crib strewn across the room as she recalled her surrogacy “I always made them take me out for a fancy dinner after every baby appointment, I mean...least they could do if I’m growing their rugrat, right? And they’d just talk and talk and  _ talk  _ about the nursery and whathaveyou...” she sighed “super boring but I’m pretty sure they had a lot more stuff for their kid than you two bozos…”

“Such as?” asked Dennis, preparing, yet again, to be annoyed at his sister’s uselessness. 

“Well like, a changing table, high chair, booster seat - y’know, standard baby junk…” she watched as Mac and Dennis exchanged a worried glance. “Is this seriously all you guys have done to get ready?” 

“No,” said Dennis, feeling it wasn’t quite a lie “we’ve got our eye on a few other bits of furniture...”

“ _ And _ we took a Lamaze class” added Mac, feeling that ought to count for something.

Dee scoffed “for real? You two idiots took a Lamaze class?”

“Yes, Dee,” said Dennis “we took a Lamaze class. I know it might seem absurd to you, a harpy with the mothering instincts of an anxious hamster, but Mac and I are dedicated to being as prepared as humanly possible for the arrival of our child…”

“Really?” said Dee, not buying that line of bullshit for one hot second “so erm, tell me...how’d the class go?”

“We got kicked out,” said Mac bluntly. 

“We were asked to leave, Mac” corrected Dennis “there’s a difference.”

“Wow” drawled Dee, sarcasm dripping off every word “I was wrong, you guys are  _ too  _ prepared if anything!” 

Dennis frowned at his sister “you’re not going to build this crib for us, are you?”

“Nope” she replied, unashamed “but we can still hang out. I’m free all afternoon, what do you guys want to do?”

The apartment door slamming behind Dee as she was unceremoniously thrust out into the hallway confirmed that whatever Mac and Dennis had in mind, it didn’t involve her.

\--------------------------

Later that night, Mac was trying and failing to get comfortable in bed.

“Dude, I’m starting to feel like a beached whale...” he moaned. He had tried a variety of positions, utilised a number of pillows but still felt too uncomfortable and cumbersome to fall asleep. 

“Whales are actually incredibly majestic creatures,” said Dennis from in front of the mirror, mid-way through his nightly skincare routine.

“So?” said Mac, not quite seeing the point “what does that have to do with anything?”

“I just think that if you’re going to compare yourself to an animal and you’re trying to draw a negative comparison maybe don’t choose the gentle giant of the ocean.”

“But that’s what I’m saying,” said Mac, a tad irritably “I feel huge and useless...”

“Well that’s incredibly unfair to whales then” replied Dennis “granted, they are big but they possess a tranquil, gracefulness rarely seen in the animal kingdom...” there was a pause as he thought more about the marine mammals, “I think they’re also really important to the oceanic ecosystem, so definitely not useless either…”

“Oh my God dude, how can you be missing the point this badly?” moaned Mac, covering his eyes with his hands. “I’m saying I feel like a whale when it’s all washed up on a beach somewhere, just suffocating on the sand before it eventually dies and explodes from all the gases and stuff…”

“They’re endangered too,” said Dennis, seemingly oblivious to what Mac had just said. “So what you’re basically saying is that you feel like a dying breed of majestic creatures…”

“That’s even worse!” replied Mac, “how can an endangered animal suffocating to death on a beach be anything other than negative, dude?” he sighed, running his hands across his bump “look at me, man - I’m huge and I’ve still got another month and a half to go...I’m going to be ginormous by the end of this…”

Dennis ignored the obvious self-indulgent whining and climbed into bed. He propped himself up on an elbow next to Mac and kissed him on the shoulder. To Dennis’ surprise, rather than being pleased with the affection Mac twisted away from the gesture, visibly annoyed.

“Dude, for real?” snapped Mac. 

“What?” 

“You’ve bummed me out talking about dead whales and shit and  _ then _ you try to get fresh with me?”

“Get ‘fresh’ with you?” repeated Dennis, amused “what is this, 1993?”

“I’m  _ clearly  _ not in the mood,” said Mac, grumpily “I’ve just been saying how I feel like a great big fat thing, the kid’s beating on my bladder like it owes him money and now I can’t stop thinking about how all the whales are dying off so I’m not exactly up for you trying to fuck me right now, okay?!?”

“Okay,” said Dennis holding his palms up “Reading you loud and clear - you are evidently not in the right mindset for my affections tonight...” 

He slid down the bed till he was eye-level with Mac’s bump “hey kiddo” he said, addressing the baby inside “your dad’s being a really moody piece of shit...”

“Unbelievable” muttered Mac before adding, somewhat hypocritically “and don’t swear - pretty sure the kid can hear you and we’re gonna teach him to swear properly, when the time is right…”

Dennis smirked but continued to address the baby rather than Mac “anyhow baby, looks like it’s just you that’s willing to have an actual conversation with me tonight and thanks to your Auntie Dee, you’ve not got a bed yet-”

“Yeah,” said Mac “totally just Dee’s fault...”

“But-” said Dennis, ignoring the scorn being slung in his direction “I’m afraid you’ll need to get used to Dee disappointing you like that. Unfortunately, she will be the inappropriate drunken auntie in your life…” he considered this briefly before he spoke “but not the fun types you see in sitcoms. She’s not one of those women whose only crime is liking cheap Chardonnay and bold print tops. Oh no. Dee is the scary drunken auntie. The auntie who arrives late to Thanksgiving dinner with a gas station attendant she met 20 minutes ago and bribed to be her date - over dessert, you’ll need to listen as they hate-fuck in the coat closet...”

“Are you describing something that has happened or that will happen?” asked Mac “because both seem scarily plausible..”

“Mac, do you mind?” said Dennis, “I’m trying to have a conversation with our unborn child but you keep interrupting?” he continued addressing Mac’s stomach “Auntie Dee will take you aside at family gatherings and ask you to tell her she’s pretty - you’ll earn a crisp twenty dollars for your troubles but you won’t be able to look her in the eye for the rest of the night. It’ll be too scary...”

“Okay, that is  _ way  _ too specific to be a hypothetical scenario…”

“On a side note, and don’t tell your dad this or else I’ll never hear the end of it...” Dennis smiled to himself, enjoying this game “he’s actually pretty adorable when heavily pregnant...or at least he would be if he dialled back the whining.” He chanced a look up at Mac who had visibly softened, unable to stay mad as Dennis subjected him to the full force of his charm. 

“And...I think I have a solution to our crib problem” said Dennis, half to Mac “y’see baby, our problem was we went to Dee-”

“We?” smirked Mac.

“Yes,  _ we _ went to Dee - a woman who we’ve established has so little mothering instincts that I believe she actually drains it out of other women just by being near them...what we need is someone who actually has that maternal drive.”

Mac frowned as he thought about that. His brain was coming up empty for a suggestion, which he found rather depressing. 

“It was a challenge” admitted Dennis, slipping his hand underneath the fabric of Mac’s t-shirt “but...I think I’ve thought of the perfect person - it’s a bit of a gamble, but I think it’s one we need to take.”

“Who is it?” asked Mac, enjoying the warmth and softness of his boyfriend’s touch. 

“I’ll tell you,” said Dennis, raising his eyebrows suggestively “right after you let me get fresh with you...”


	16. Charlie Kelly: Egg Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis needs Charlie to keep Mac distracted whilst the nursery is completed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some not-so-subtle parallels with Mac Finds His Pride.
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by wine and 're-watching MFHP for "research purposes"
> 
> Huge thank you to Kelly, for beta'ing over 5000 words of 'daddy issues'

Right on the agreed time, there was a knock at the door of Dennis and Mac’s apartment.

“Still can’t believe this is the most maternal woman we know...” muttered Dennis, before opening the door. Bonnie Kelly came barrelling inside, practically bustling with menopausal enthusiasm.

“Oh, congratulations, you two!” she cooed, making a beeline for Mac and taking his face in her hands. “Oh sweetie, you’re glowing!” she said, giving his cheeks a hearty squeeze. Mac, always a sucker for the attention of middle-aged women, grinned at her. 

“How exciting,” Bonnie cried. “A brand new little baby!” Evidently overwhelmed with the notion, she wrapped her arms around Mac and gave him a hug that seemed implausibly tight for her short, ageing body. “Oh and he’s going to be  _ so _ handsome too.” Bonnie looked at Dennis over her shoulder. “Probably a good thing you weren’t...you know--” she dropped into a whisper. “ _ involved _ in making this one, dear.”

Dennis’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. 

“Mom, c’mon,” said Charlie stepping into the apartment, his arms filled with boxes and bags. “Stop manhandling, Mac okay? Guy’s got precious cargo on board.”

With a final rib and bump crushing squeeze, Bonnie reluctantly let go of Mac and called into the hallway, “are you coming, dearie? We have a lot of work to do.”

Mac’s mom extinguished the last embers of her cigarette on the wall of the hallway and stepped into the apartment, ejecting twin gusts of recently inhaled smoke from her nostrils by way of a greeting.

“Hey mom,” said Mac, a tad sheepishly.

Mrs. Mac surveyed her son with her usual gruffness. She grunted in response, her eyes lingering for a few seconds on his stomach before she shuffled towards the centre of the living room, clapping one hand on his shoulder as she passed him.

“Oh my God,” murmured Mac, gazing at the floor with unfocused eyes. 

“Mac--” began Dennis, who had a sneaking suspicion something like this would happen. “It’s okay-”

“She is  _ so _ excited!” said Mac, looking up at Dennis with barely constrained relief and excitement. “She’s super pumped, man. I mean, have you ever seen her so happy?”

Dennis looked over at Mac’s mom, just to check they were both talking about the same woman. “I...don't think I’m as good at reading your mom’s subtle range of emotions as you are, Mac.” 

“She’s like a schoolgirl, dude - like, I’ve never seen her so excited.”

Deciding not to question whether Mac’s mom was capable of showing any emotion other than  curmudgeonly indifference, Dennis spoke up. “ Ladies,” he said, “Mac is going to show you the nursery where your specific skill sets are very much needed.” 

Dennis grabbed Charlie by the collar of his jacket as he made to follow Mac, Mrs. Mac and Bonnie into the nursery. 

“Charlie,” he said half-pulling, half-carrying the shorter man into the kitchen. “I need you to keep Mac distracted whilst your moms are working on the nursery. Get him out of the apartment, he’ll keep trying to help otherwise.”

“Okay,” said Charlie, shrugging out the impromptu handle Dennis had made from the back of his army jacket.

Dennis went to walk away before he felt compelled to ask a few follow-up questions. “Okay, I mean, firstly thank you for just going with what I said so easily but...I feel I need to check what you think of when I say ‘keep Mac distracted and out of the apartment’...like, what do you think that I mean by that?”

“You want me to take Mac to do something that’ll, y’know, keep him out of your hair for the day...” replied Charlie affably. 

“Such as?” said Dennis, the initial niggle of worry growing into something greater and larger.

“Well, not that it’s any of your business but I was thinking the waterpark…”

“No! Charlie, are you insane? Mac can’t go on a waterslide.”

“I can though,” came the infuriatingly logical retort. 

“And you think  _ you  _ can stop Mac from joining you on a waterslide?” Dennis gestured up and down the length of Charlie. “You honestly believe you’d be the voice of sanity in that scenario? You two idiots have been goading each other into doing stupid shit since you were in elementary school...”

Charlie nodded, gracefully accepting criticism that was grounded in a countless number of idiotic stunts and double-dares.

“Okay, what about this,” said Dennis, thinking of something that might help. “I want you to try something for me, alright? Imagine you’ve got an egg...a tiny little fragile egg and you need to keep it safe, right? Nothing can happen to his egg whilst you’re in charge,” he paused, allowing Charlie to consider this level of responsibility. “So...when you’re with Mac I need you to  _ not  _ do anything that will put this egg in danger, okay? Does that make sense?”

“Kinda,” said Charlie. “...might help if I had an actual egg though,” he added hopefully.

Dennis wrenched open the refrigerator and extracted an egg from the carton. “Here,” he said, placing the egg into Charlie’s hands, who carefully folded his fingers over his new dependent.

“Chicken egg, eh? Bit generic but...okay,” Charlie deposited the egg in the chest pocket of his jacket and gave the bulge of fabric a gentle pat.

“Repeat it back to me, Charlie,” said Dennis, hoping to God this message had stuck. “ _ What _ are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna take care of this egg.” 

“...and my unborn child but yeah...let’s keep it simple and say you’re protecting that egg.” 

Despite not being totally convinced that whatever Charlie had planned wouldn’t involve an unnecessary degree of risk of accident or injury, Dennis strode into the nursery to supervise two women carrying out a task he had failed hopelessly at. Mac was shooed from the room, the door closing after him sending a very clear message that he wasn’t to get involved. 

Charlie could see Mac was feeling exasperated at being left out. “Check it out,” he sang, waving a Tupperware box at his pregnant friend. “I made you something.” Mac smiled, touched by Charlie's efforts.

“I wanted to try and make potstickers, y’know,” said Charlie as he and Mac took a seat on the couch. “But I wanted to do summat different so I filled them with hamburger meat and marshmallows and just, like a  _ splash  _ of hot sauce…”

Gazing at Charlie in awe as he helped himself to one of the proffered potstickers, Mac said, “Dude...you seriously need to open a food truck or a restaurant for pregnant people, you would make  _ so  _ much money!”

“You think?” Charlie took a bite of his culinary efforts. “Hey, what about if I sold stuff at the bar, like what if we served my food?”

“There’s not a lot of pregnant people going to bars, Charlie.”

Charlie accepted that with a good-natured shrug, his idea of serving his unique brand of fusion-cuisine over as quickly as it began.

“Dude,” he said, his hyperactive brain focusing on a new subject for discussion. “How excited is your mom? I have never seen her like this, she’s  _ so  _ giddy!”

“I know, right!” 

“And, like, my mom is super excited too which is good practice, y’know...for when me and the Waitress have a baby...” mused Charlie.

Mac didn’t quite know how to respond to that but obviously hesitated too long as Charlie felt compelled to say, “Because...because me and the Waitress are gonna have a baby and that’ll obviously make my mom a grandma--”

“Yeah, Charlie,” said Mac, a shade too quickly this time. “Yeah...our erm, our kids can have play dates together and shit...”

That answer, however untrue it was, seemed to please Charlie, who helped himself to another hamburger-marshmallow abomination. A sudden further thought occurred to him. “Oh hey, how’s your dad feel about the baby?”

Mac stopped, a potsticker raised to his mouth before admitting. “He...he doesn’t know.”

“What?”

“I tried to tell him,” said Mac, defensively. “But I just felt this news was too big for a letter or a phone call...and I still don’t know if he’d accept my calls.” He frowned, a veritable landslide of daddy issues gaining momentum as he contemplated the situation. “Shit - I mean...what if he doesn’t approve of like, anything. I mean, he doesn’t even know I’m gay. What if he hates me or hates me being with Dennis...” He covered his bump with his palm. “What if he hates the baby…”

“Nah, man,” said Charlie vehemently. “You can’t think like that. Babies are great, dude - they bring people together, y’know. They fix families and shit,” he sighed. “Like...if I had a baby and that baby was all grown up and having a baby, I’d want to know.” He took a bite of his potsticker and thought as he chewed. “Plus...what are you gonna do if he gets out and just turns up here and then is all ‘whoa, who the fuck is this baby?’”

Mac hadn’t considered that. 

“Oh shit,” he said, looking at Charlie. “You think he’d turn up here?”

Charlie shrugged but also nodded, not altogether committing to an answer one way or another. “I dunno, I mean...we have pissed him off. A lot...and he doesn’t seem the type of guy to ‘forgive and forget’ so...probably?” 

“Fuck,” muttered Mac, altogether unsure how he’d cope with his estranged father turning up on his doorstep unannounced, wearing his fresh-outta-prison outfit and a frown. 

Perhaps Charlie was right; maybe this baby would help reunite the McDonald family. Or it wouldn’t and Luther would continue to be as cold and hostile as he’d always been, only this time with his grandson thrown into the mix. 

“Charlie,” said Mac quietly, “we’re going to prison.”

Within the hour, Mac and Charlie were sitting in front of the glass partition, the greasy fingerprints of hundreds of inmates and visitors smeared across the surface. 

Mac groaned. “Oh fuck - I’m gonna puke.”

Charlie nodded sympathetically. “It’s the potstickers, man - they’re good but they get sickly after like, the eighth or ninth…”

“No, it’s not that,” said Mac. “But yeah, maybe less marshmallows next time...I feel like I’m gonna puke because I am about to tell my convicted felon father that I am very pregnant and  _ very  _ gay…”

Around them, other inmates visitors filed in, taking seats on the uncomfortable plastic stools bolted to the concrete floor. The impersonal chill of the room was oppressive and despite his oldest friend sitting next to him emitting nothing but emotional support, Mac felt the need to run. He wanted nothing more than to flee and to never have this conversation. He’d take his chances on needing to deal with his father turning up one night if and when (probably when) it happened.

Mac exhaled a nervous, jittery breath before deciding he was absolutely incapable of seeing this one through. “Nope - I’m out, I can’t do this...”

Just as Mac was readying his pregnant frame to get up and bolt as quickly as he could, Luther was led in by a prison guard. His eyes were as sharp and cold as ever, like chips of ice half-buried in an already unwelcoming face. Those eyes landed on Mac, freezing his insides. Just like that, Mac is five years old again, impossibly small as Luther towers above him. 

Without blinking, Luther slowly walked towards his own uncomfortable stool with extra deep screws securing it to the floor. With agonising slowness, he lifted the telephone off the receiver, held it up to his ear and fixed Mac with a look that screamed, “I am already disappointed in what you have to say.”

“Heyyy dad,” said Mac, the words somehow forming in his mouth dispute the fact panic constricting his throat. “How’ve you been? You’re looking good. Real good...is that a new...a new tattoo?”

The left side of Luther’s neck was covered in a new tattoo, the dark ink depicting a scorpion stinging a snake in a very graphic display of interspecies aggression.

“It erm...it looks good. Really...clean lines...” said Mac, trailing off.

“No visible signs of infection...” added Charlie quietly. 

“You remember, Charlie don’t you, dad?” asked Mac, frantically searching for anything to delay the inevitable. Next to him, Charlie gave an over-enthusiastic wave that was completely at odds with the look of fear he wore on his face.

Luther’s eyes flicked across to the shorter man, narrowing just the slightest to indicate that yes, he did remember Charlie. He looked back at Mac, his austere expression demanding an explanation as to why his only son had turned up and randomly asked to see him.

Mac swallowed. “I erm...I got some news, dad. Big news,” he said. He took a deep breath but somehow ended up with less air in his lungs than before. “You’re erm….you’re gonna be a grandad...” 

There was silence for a second. Two seconds. Three.

On the fourth, Luther’s lips cracked open like an egg, his cold shark-like eyes wrinkling as he did so. He gave a single, deep, guttural laugh and slammed his hand on the table. 

“Oh my God,” he said, his tone far warmer and more inviting than Mac had heard his whole life but still sharp enough to cut through tough meat. “That is wonderful. Jesus, you had me scared for a second there, boy. I thought you were coming in here with your usual stupid shit, wasting my time but no - you’re giving me a grandkid!” He gave another short, sharp laugh that sounded like a gunshot. “I was gettin’ worried. The men in our family are very fertile, y’know...”

Mac glanced down at his stomach, concealed from view by the high surface of the petition. No denying that fertility. “Yeah…” he agreed, half-heartedly. 

“But finally -  _ finally _ you’ve done something right for once in your life and you’ve made me a grandfather,” he smiled at Mac with all the warmth of a prize catch at a fish market. “So...who's the lucky lady?”

Mac felt like he was on a precipice. The option was right there - he could lie, fabricate a story and avoid needing to ever tell his father about any of this...or he could take the plunge. To jump and fall but he’d finally know what’s on the other side of this conversation.

“Well, erm - you remember my friend Dennis, right?” said Mac, tracing over the graffiti and scratches on the counter in front of him. 

“Yes,” replied Luther.

“Well, yeah - he-he’s...the dad--”

“Your friend Dennis knocked up the girl who's having  _ your  _ baby?” said Luther, the crease between his eyebrows growing more pronounced as he talked through what he understood to the whole ugly situation.

“No, well...y’see,” Mac raised his eyes to the ceiling and exhaled, fighting the urge to flee that was as pressing as ever. “I’m…” he froze, his heart about ready to beat out of his chest. “I’m the one having the baby.”

Luther’s jaw clenched and somehow, the look on his face grew tauter and more mean but Mac carried on. “I’m gay, dad...I’m gay and I’m pregnant and Dennis is raising the baby with me-”

“Dennis isn’t the actual dad though,” said Charlie, leaning towards the phone mouthpiece. “That was some guy at a farmer’s market…”

“Jesus, dude,” cried Mac, looking at Charlie. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Mac turned back to his dad, whose eyes were practically boring holes through the thick sheet of glass that divided the room. “So yeah, I’m...pregnant and gay and I have a-a boyfriend and...I thought I should tell you because--”

With unflinching eye contact Luther hung up the phone and stood up, fully intent on walking away from his son once and for all.

“Dad?” said Mac, still talking into the mouthpiece despite the fact his dad was walking away from the phone. “Dad? Will you listen? Dad, please!”

As he watched Luther walk away, as aloof as ever in spite of news of his first grandchild, something inside of Mac snapped. Forty years of disapproval and deprivation lit a inferno inside him. 

“God-fucking-dammit!” Mac yelled, suddenly on his feet with the phone still clutched in his hand. “Will you have an actual fucking adult conversation with me for  _ once  _ in your goddamn life, you fucking miserable piece of SHIT!”

The room went deadly silent. Inmates and visitors alike were watching Mac with morbid interest. Luther stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at his son. Another time, Mac would have felt exposed by the attention.Today, he didn’t give a shit - Mac had nothing left to lose. 

“Either fuck off for good,” said Mac, “or sit the fuck down and actually  _ talk  _ to me like I am fucking goddamn human, you stupid pussy-ass bitch.”

Luther stared at his son, drinking in this fiery outburst. His eyes flicked to Mac’s stomach, the gaze feeling like an uncomfortable jab but Mac held his ground. Seconds ticked by, everyone in the prison visiting room waiting with bated breath to see how this unfolded. Mac sat down and brought the phone back up to his ears as he stared back at Luther, jaw set - the challenge was crystal clear. 

In the dark recesses of Luther’s pupils, intrigue flickered. This is his son, his useless pathetic son...but there’s something new about him now, something fierce and violent. As casually as he could, Luther sat back down, his gaze never breaking. With clear, decisive movements, Luther picked up the phone and held it to his ear. He raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘proceed’.

“Thank you,” said Mac, genuinely unsure as to whether or not he meant it. He took a breath to try and steady the emotions roiling inside him. 

“I came here today because I was stupid enough to think that you’d actually be pleased you’re going to be a grandfather. I thought you might actually be happy for me...and the worst part is that for a minute, you actually were. You seemed genuinely excited to have a grandkid, just like mom is-”

“Oh Mrs. Mac is super excited,” interrupted Charlie,“You shoulda seen it, Mr. Mac, it might put a smile on your miserable face...”

“Charlie. Will you shut the fuck up?” Mac turned back to his father, feeling like he was seeing Luther with a clarity he never thought possible. “I have wasted  _ years _ of my life trying to get you to love me...but it was never fucking enough.” He shook his head, a stream of unhappy childhood memories all clamouring for space in his head. “You never understood me, never even tried to get to know me and  _ nothing  _ I ever did was good enough for you. You always treated me like I was some huge disappointment.”

“You got knocked up by a stranger in a farmers market...” said Luther, his voice infuriatingly composed.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Mac, “why is everyone so fucking obsessed with that?”

“It happened in a chemical toilet,” added Charlie unhelpfully, completely ignoring his instructions to shut the fuck up.

Mac shot Charlie a final warning look but he continued to let 40 years of hurt and resentment pour out. “I feel like, for the first real-time in my life I am actually really happy. I have a boyfriend, I’m having a baby,” he gave a small, sad laugh. “I’ve got a family, an  _ actual _ fucking family…” he sighed. “But you don’t give a shit about any of that. You don’t care. You never have, never will…” 

He paused, slightly astounded at what he was about to say. “So I’m done. I’m over it. I’m through trying. I’m not going to try and keep you in my life anymore, dad....” 

It was Mac’s turn to stare at Luther, his gaze equally cold and hard. “But if you get out...if you come find me and you try to start any shit with my family…” he leant towards the glass, “I will fucking kill you.”

Luther’s eyebrows twitched upwards, shocked at the intensity of his son’s words. His prison cred had already taken a beating today with his heavily pregnant son calling him a pussy-ass bitch in front of inmates and guards alike; he couldn't afford to look startled by Mac’s threat. 

“I mean it,” said Mac, lowering his voice but the ferocity of his words not diminishing one bit. “I will fucking kill you. I will rip your head from your neck and mount it on the wall over my son’s crib…” 

“...Fuck…” said Charlie weakly, knowing Mac meant every word. 

Luther and Mac stared at each other, the pressure in the air crackling with animosity. Luther broke the standoff, the tight corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly upwards.

“...I’ll have a grandson?” 

“Have a nice life, Luther,” said Mac, dropping the telephone back on the receiver and striding out of the visiting room.

Sometime later, as Mac and Charlie were wandering back to the apartment in no particular hurry, Charlie asked, “You feeling any better?”

“Not really,” said Mac. The anger and adrenaline had ebbed away, leaving him feeling unsettled and weary. 

“Milkshake not helping?”

Mac considered the cup in his hand. “Nah, I think I messed up with my flavor choices.”

“What did you get?”

“Lime milkshake with white chocolate drizzle,” he swirled the pale green liquid around the cup. “It sounded like a good idea at the time but…” he shrugged, now absolutely certain a milkshake wasn’t going to make him feel any less miserable.

“Can I try?” asked Charlie, intrigued.

Mac wordlessly passed the milkshake to Charlie as he asked, “Did I really call my dad a pussy-ass bitch?”

Charlie snorted at the memory. “Yeah. In front of everyone, all the visitors, other prisoners and shit. It was amazing, dude.”

Despite himself, Mac had to smile. He had to admit--it had felt good to let loose entire decades worth of shit he’d always been too scared to say to his dad. Mac was certain Luther wouldn’t quite be the prison Kingpin he once was after that scene; no-one is going to respect the guy who got a verbal dressing down from his gay, pregnant son...teardrop tattoo or no teardrop tattoo.

“Do you think he’ll leave you guys alone?” asked Charlie, stirring his second-hand drink with the straw.

“I dunno,” said Mac quietly. He felt like he had bigger things to worry about. “Charlie...what if I end up like my dad? What if I turn into a piece of shit father, just like him?”

There was once a day when Mac would have given anything to be just like Luther. To be hard and intimidating; to make the world uneasy or obedient. Right now though, Mac’d give everything to know he was just the opposite. Thankfully, Charlie Kelly had some strong feelings on the subject.

“What are you talking about? You’re gonna be a great dad. You’re gonna be so good and you are gonna love the kid and be there for him, all the damn time!” 

Mac appeared unconvinced, so Charlie needed to break out the big guns.

“Dude, how long have we known each other? I know you, okay - I  _ get  _ you. You’ve been taking care of me since we were kids, you’ve always been there for me, making sure I didn’t get hurt and stuff...and look, I turned out fine,” he paused to take a long sip of lime and white chocolate milkshake. “You are resilient as shit and I just know you are gonna absolutely crush being a dad. Like, you’re a fighter dude, you just keep going - you’re like a cockroach and I mean that as a compliment.”

“Coming from you, Charlie, it is a compliment...” Mac smiled at his friend, the chill that had settled inside him thawing as he listened to his friend's praise. 

“And who cares if Luther doesn’t want anything to do with the kid? His loss. Your baby is still gonna have you and Dennis and me and, well, probably not Dee,” admitted Charlie. “And definitely not Frank...but you’ve got your mom and my mom seems really happy you're having a baby,” he threw his arms open. “Kids got a proper family, man.” Charlie smiled as he spoke. “Your baby is super lucky, dude...”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Mac, feeling a little better. “Thanks, Charlie,” he opened his arms for the smaller guy to come in for a hug, which was gratefully received. Almost as soon as it had begun though, Charlie jumped back with a yelp.

“Oh shit, my egg,” he said, rummaging around in his front pocket as Mac watched on in bewilderment. 

Charlie extracted the unharmed egg with a triumphant “Aha!” He held it up to show Mac, only for it to crack in his hands. The noise of the cracking shell putting the brakes on his excitement. 

For a second, the pair stared at each other, neither one quite sure what had just happened. 

“Please don’t tell Dennis about this,” said Charlie softly, yolk dripping through his clenched fingers.

\----------------------------------------

Back in the apartment, Dennis was growing increasingly worried. He’d messaged both Mac and Charlie but hadn’t heard anything from either of them. Dennis had emerged from the nursery several hours earlier, painfully aware of his status as third-wheel, to find a note on the dining table. 

**wh** **ɘ** **nt too Gayle, bE back sUne C + M**

“Mac, why’d you let Charlie do the writing?” muttered Dennis “...and who the fuck is Gayle?” 

It had taken some fairly intense consideration and one infuriating phone call to Frank for Dennis to figure out that Charlie and Mac had gone to the jail. That had been a troubling realisation and something that he was sure that Charlie’s egg was not going to come out of unscathed. 

As the day turned into early evening, Dennis began to fret; he was certain that the prison visiting hours had long since ended but Mac still wasn’t back. Just as he was about to drive to the prison in person, Mac arrived back home. He looked tired but unharmed.

“Oh thank God,” said Dennis. “What took you so long? What the fuck happened?”

“Charlie said you needed him to keep me out of the apartment so we were killing some time...”

“Yeah and that was fine  _ before  _ I found out you went to the prison - why’d Charlie take you there of all places?” demanded Dennis.

“I went to tell my dad about us and the baby,” said Mac, realising he should possibly have run this past his boyfriend first. Now that he thought about it, it’s likely Dennis might have wanted to know Mac was going to tell his incarcerated father about their relationship and impending parenthood. 

Dennis’ eyes widened. “Oh fuck...what happened? How’d it go?”

“Well erm...” Mac scratched the back of his neck. “I called him a pussy-ass bitch, which I don’t think he appreciated…” he glanced up to see Dennis gaping at him, clearly aghast. “And he did not seem to approve of us or this,” he placed both hands on his bump. “So...I told him that I didn’t need him in my life and I left…”

“You...you stormed into prison, insulted your dad, told him you’re gay and pregnant and then...just left?” Dennis sat down onto one of the dining chairs, the scale of Mac’s mess-up hitting him in stages. 

“No, well...not quite,” said Mac, “I mean...I did all that, yeah, but it’s fine cos he’s going to leave us alone, so you don’t need to be concerned about him turning up here if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Well I am now!” yelped Dennis. “How do you know he’s not going to turn up here? You know what the guys like, he’s a lunatic!”

“I told him I’d kill him if he ever tried to do anything to hurt you or the baby,” Mac frowned, the feel of those words in his mouth feeling scary but completely accurate. “And I meant it...and I think...I think he knows that…”

Much like Charlie, Dennis was fully aware that Mac meant what he said. He stood up and pulled Mac into a hug, as much for his own benefit than anything. Mac rested his head on Dennis’ shoulders, feeling exhausted from the day and the veritable rollercoaster of emotions it had brought. Unbeknownst to him, Dennis was going to take him on one more emotional ride.

“Do you want to see the nursery?”

Mac pulled away from the embrace. “Dude, it’s finished? For real?”

“Yup,” said Dennis, taking Mac by the hand and leading him to what shall henceforth always be known as the nursery rather than Mac’s room. “I’ve gotta say, yours and Charlie's mom make a formidable team. You want something doing right, give it to two single menopausal women.” 

Throwing a smile at Mac, Dennis opened the doorway to the nursery and waited for his boyfriend’s reaction.

“Holy shit,” cried Mac, “This place is awesome!”

The crib that had proved too taxing for Dennis was built and dressed, one side of the tiny bed lined with stuffed animals. In the corner, there was a high chair, its white plastic painfully shiny and smelling strongly of antibacterial spray. As Mac gazed around the room, other details and additions jumped out at him - packs of diapers, changing mats, bottles. All sorts of baby paraphernalia that he was certain weren’t in their apartment before.

“Wow - you’re right. Team Menopause knocked it out of the park…”

“Check this out,” said Dennis, opening up a drawer to reveal impossibly tiny clothes. “Charlie’s mom has been making baby clothes since he was  _ 16 _ so she’s given us a couple of bagfuls of the stuff.”

“Really?” asked Mac. 

“Yeah, I’m starting to think Bonnie Kelly is one of those women who only had children to get grandkids…”

The pair gazed around the room, the nursery practically complete except for one final, crucial addition. 

A few days later, Dennis was flicking through the mail and came across a packaged envelope addressed to Mac.

“Did you order something?” he asked, opening it up and shaking the contents out onto the table. “Oh shit!” he said, the colour draining from his face. .

“What is it?” asked Mac, wondering what on earth could have spooked Dennis so bad.

“It’s a fucking knife, Mac!”

“Weird. Who’d send me a knife?” 

“Well, let’s think about this, shall we?” asked Dennis, his voice shrill with shock. “Have you been in contact with any unhinged murderous psychopaths lately? Hmm? Someone with a lot of time on their hands and plenty of criminal contacts?” 

Mac picked up the knife. It was actually a shiv but Dennis always had a tendency to over-exaggerate. It was a plastic toothbrush that had been carefully filed into a thin, razor-sharp point. 

Dennis unfolded the note that came with the shiv. “Oh Jesus…” he murmured. He passed the note to Mac, who read it. 

_ For the boy _

_ L.  _

“Oh my God,” said Mac, realising what this meant. He grinned, perhaps being the only person to do so when receiving an unexpected homemade stabbing implement in the mail. “He cares…”

Dennis gingerly plucked the shiv from Mac’s hands with extreme caution. “I am going to go put this someplace safe...because our child is not going to kindergarten armed, okay?”    
  



	17. Baby Names and GBFFs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Dennis try to find a name for their baby and end up having a huge argument about how to raise him in the process. Meantime, Dee has terrible taste in television.

“I never realised how many people I hate,” said Dennis. “I see a name and I instantly remember some asshole I haven’t thought about in years...” 

The pair were on the couch, Mac’s feet resting in Dennis’s lap receiving a very much needed foot rub. Mac was flicking through a book of baby names whilst Dennis scrolled through suggestions on his phone. As Mac hit his eighth month, they both felt it was time to figure out what to call their impending arrival. Even in their cockiest moments, neither of them would disagree that this was a decision that required a lot of careful consideration.

“Like Craig,” said Dennis, a decades-old grievance resurrected in a matter of seconds. “I gave Craig a stick of gum back in seventh grade and the next day he spread a rumor around that my mom was addicted to pills.”

Mac glanced up from his book with a frown. “But...you’re mom was addicted to pills, right? How’s it a rumor if it's true?”

“I gave him a stick of gum, Mac...couldn't the guy have shown me a little more loyalty?” Mentally scratching the name ‘Craig’ off a potential baby-name list, Dennis scrolled down the suggestions. 

“What about something traditional?” he asked. “Like Johsua?”

“Oh man, not Josuha,'' said Mac, his own negative associations resurfacing at a similar pace. “D’you not remember that guy that was in our high school? He was always sneaking into the biology labs, touching the frogs and lizards and shit.”

Dennis suddenly was able to put a face to the name, only to quickly remember that the face and the name was always accompanied by an unexplained mossy smell. “Yeah,” he said. “Whatever happened to him?”

“Well, I know he’s banned from the aquarium…” 

Certain that he did not want to hear that story whilst trying to name his first-born, Dennis turned back to his phone to resume sizing up the list of names. 

They were all so painfully generic: Ben. Simon. Gareth. Robert. Christopher. David - Fuck, it was a real “Who’s Who” of the perpetually uninteresting; no child of Dennis or Mac’s should ever be burdened with such a conventional name.

“We’re thinking too small,” said Dennis, “too boring, too ordinary. Names are one of the first things people judge you on. They should be intriguing, exciting” he looked at Mac. “If you’d been given the choice, would you have chosen the name Ronald?”

“Not with the last name McDonald,” came the immediate, honest reply.

“Exactly - also, what we name our son is a reflection of us as well. It needs to be something personal to us, something special and profound.” Dennis noted Mac had yet to offer up a suggestion yet, despite frowning at the baby name book for well over half an hour. “What are you thinking?”

“Okay,” said Mac, dropping the book onto the top of his stomach to frame his suggestion with his hands. “I got Sylvester, Jean-Claude...oh, and what about Arnold?”

“Eighties action movie stars,” mused Dennis. “Good suggestions. Bold names, very personal to us...” He toyed with the idea in his head. “Jean-Claude Reynolds-McDonald...hmm…”. That didn’t sound half-bad. Very European, but that could be a good thing.

Mac titled his head to look at Dennis critically. “Is...is that the last name we’re using?”

“Yeah man, we’re hyphenating as that’s just classy as shit.”

“Reynolds-McDonald though?” said Mac, with a bit of bite edging into his tone.

“Yeah - why, you think it should be the other way round?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I mean, for starters,” said Mac, clearly a little irked at having to justify this. “I’m the one hauling this kid around--”

Dennis had to give credit to Mac there; his usual hyperactive strides and bounces were long gone, his body weighed down by the strains of carrying around a growing human. Whilst Dennis was certain not all of Mac’s weight gain could be attributed to their son’s development, he was smart enough not to suggest anything of the kind, at least not within his boyfriend’s earshot. 

“Plus, McDonald comes before Reynolds alphabetically.”

“I’ve never let the alphabet dictate my decision-making, Mac.” said Dennis. “But you’re right. You’re the one doing the hard work so...McDonald-Reynolds it is.”

The pair briefly debated Mac’s list of proposed names, ultimately deciding none of them quite fit. 

“What about Bruce?” said Mac. “And that’s a two-for-one because it can be ‘Bruce like Willis’  _ and _ ‘Bruce like Batman’.”

“And ‘Bruce like my biological father’” added Dennis. 

Mac hadn’t considered that. “Yeah...that’d probably piss off Frank.”

Dennis nodded. “Normally, I am all for pissing off Frank but something about naming a human life after the guy that knocked up his wife and left him to foot the bill feels like going a little too far…”

“Oh shit,” said Mac, who had been half-listening to Dennis as a new awesome thought for a baby name had made itself known. “What if we called him Ford?”

“Like...the car?” 

“No dude, like Harrison Ford.” Mac began to explain, as he could see his boyfriend was missing the point. “Harrison Ford’s first name is actually a last name so we call our kid Ford, which is a last name but as a  _ first name _ …it could be a tribute to Harrison Ford, who we agree is a total badass.”

“If it’s a tribute,” said Dennis, still not quite getting it “why don’t we call the kid Harrison? Because calling him Ford seems more like a tribute to a mid-range family car manufacturer...”

Mac’s mouth twisted as he considered that.

“Besides,” added Dennis, deciding he really did not want to be picking up a Ford from kindergarten in a couple of years time. “We should probably avoid naming the kid after celebrities. There’s no way of knowing what shit is going to come out about them later…”

Accepting that very sage advice with an affable nod, Mac went back to flicking through the baby book, one hand resting on his bump, feeling his as of yet unnamed son squirm around. 

“Here’s an idea,” said Dennis, feeling he was onto something with this one. “We want our child to have a name that’s impressive, right? Like, a name that opens doors for them, makes people sit up and pay attention.”

“Obviously.”

“So, what about something legendary like Apollo, y'know, the Greek god?” 

It was Mac’s turn to look unconvinced. “Apollo? Really?”

“Or Zeus,” said Dennis, doing a quick mythology lookup on his phone. “He was living his best life, right? Just throwing around lightning bolts, banging chicks and keeping all the other gods inline-” as he spoke, Dennis looked up from his phone. The perfect name had formed in his head, filling him with a certainty and excitement that he’d rarely experienced before.

“I’ve got it,” he murmured before turning to Mac, eager to receive the barrage of praise that was sure to follow. “I’ve got the perfect name for our son…” he paused, for dramatic effect, as Mac raised his eyebrows expectantly. “God. God McDonald-Reynolds.”

There was a pause, a silence most certainly  _ not _ filled with heapings of praise.

Mac cringed. “I don’t think-”

“It’s perfect,” interrupted Dennis, “it’s simple, it’s commanding, it’s easy to spell. You know there’s not going to be another kid called God in the class. It’s the best name, don’t you think?”

“I…” Mac twisted his fingers, hating to disagree with Dennis “I just think it’s not going to go down well at the church, y’know...”

Dennis blinked in confusion. “What church?”

“My church. I’ll be taking our kid to church since we’re raising him Catholic.”

“We’re not raising him Catholic,” scoffed Dennis, amused by the very notion. In his lap, he felt Mac’s legs tense; he looked over to see his boyfriend wearing a scowl.

“Mac, are you serious?” asked Dennis, incredulous at this reaction. “You honestly want to raise our child Catholic? Do you just not remember the shit it did to you over forty years?” 

“Religion is important to me, Dennis,” said Mac. “It’s been part of my life for...forever.”

“And you just want to go right ahead and put your son in the same position you were in? Stupidly devoted to a religion that’s been screwing you up since you first got dunked in that magical baby bath?” 

“It’s called a baptism,” muttered Mac. “And I just assumed we were on the same page with this…”

“What, that we’d raise our son Catholic?”

“Yes,” repeated Mac, crossing his arms. “We’d raise him Catholic and Charlie would be Godfather.”

This was another new piece of information for Dennis.

“ _ What?!? _ ” he cried. “Charlie...as Godfather? Mac, what in God’s--” how ironic-- “Dammit, what in the hell are you talking about? We’re not making Charlie a Godfather.”

“Why not?” demanded Mac, knowing this spat had evolved into a full-on fight.

“Do you even know what a Godfather does?” asked Dennis, who quickly held up a hand as Mac went to answer. “And I swear to--” he stopped himself again from referring to the ‘G’ word that was at the heart of his impassioned debate. “If you so much as mention ‘daughter’s weddings’ and ‘offers that can’t be refused’, I will get angry…”

Mac glowered but said nothing.

“Godfathers,” said Dennis, “take care of the children if the parents die. Is that you what you want, Mac? If you and I both die in a car crash or a botched Wawa robbery, you want  _ Charlie Kelly _ to be the sole custodian of our only child?”

“Don’t talk like that,” said Mac quietly, twisting his legs off of Dennis’ lap. He sat on his side of the couch, feeling agitated and upset at Dennis’ reaction.

“Well, we need to be talking about shit like this, Mac,” said Dennis, ignoring the niggling feeling he might have overstepped a boundary there. “Just like how we should have probably talked about how we’re gonna raise our child because we’re  _ not  _ raising him Catholic,” he concluded, with an air of finality.

Mac was not prepared to let this one go. “How is that a discussion?” he spat. “You’re not discussing shit with me, you’re just deciding for us both, as usual. You’re doing what  _ you  _ want to do and you don't give a crap about anyone else’s feelings.”

“What I’m  _ doing, _ ” said Dennis, “is preventing you from making the same mistakes your parents did - I’m stopping you from doing something stupid and letting the church fuck about with our kid’s head. Quite frankly, it’s astounding you’re even  _ considering  _ throwing our child into that mess of religion, given all the upset and misery it's given you over the years. But I’m putting my foot down, we’re not raising him Catholic and I’m not having this discussion with you anymore, Mac. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Dennis,” said Mac. 

“Like what?”

“Like I’m one of the stupid women you used to bang.” 

Dennis laughed at the accusation. “Well, what am I supposed to do when you’re being hysterical?” 

“Hysterical?” repeated Mac.

“Yes - Mac, you’re being hysterical. Will you please just calm-”

Mac was pushing himself off the couch, his face set in a dark scowl. Dennis clapped a palm across his eyes, irritated at his boyfriend’s reaction. He waited, listening to Mac as he stomped into the bedroom. Dennis gave it a few seconds before he got up to see what was going on in the other room.

Mac was struggling to pull on his boots, his expression still stony. 

“What are you doing?” asked Dennis, with a barely disguised sigh as he leant against the doorframe.

“I’m going out,” said Mac, each word delivered like a tiny little punch.

Dennis snorted. “No, you’re not.”

“Fucking watch me,” said Mac, setting to work pulling on his other boot. Dennis knew a stubbornly determined Mac when he saw one.

“Mac,” he said, trying to inject some lightness to his tone. “C’mon, it’s gone ten at night and you’re pregnant as shit. You’re not going anywhere.”

Dennis watched as Mac got up off the bed with some degree of difficulty and strode past him. Knowing if he wanted Mac to stay put, he was going to need to show some contrition. “Mac?” he called at his boyfriend’s back. “‘C'mon. Don’t go.” for good measure, he even added: “please?”

Mac rounded on Dennis. “You gonna apologise?” he demanded. A verbal gauntlet had been thrown down. 

The ultimatum extinguished any inclination Dennis had to be accommodating. 

What did he have to apologize for? For not wanting his child to be subjected to the rigmarole of religious torment - Mac should be grateful one of them was the voice of reason in this relationship.

Dennis sat down on the couch, picked up his phone and pretended to read something with interest on the screen. His every movement clearly indicated that the last thing he was prepared to do was apologise.

“Fuck you,” said Mac, his words staining the tense silence that had filled the apartment. He grabbed his jacket and strode out the door, taking great pains to slam it behind him as forcefully as possible. 

“Fuck,” whispered Dennis, gazing at the closed door. He hadn’t expected Mac to actually fucking do it. 

On the other side of the door, Mac was having a similar moment of “fuck” because just as the door had slammed shut behind him, he realised he’d stormed out with no wallet, phone or keys. With a groan, Mac set off on foot, far too angry and proud to even contemplate going back inside the apartment. 

A while later, Mac was banging on the door to Dee’s apartment, knowing she’d be in, alone and approximately two-thirds into a bottle of wine by now. Dee’s was one of the last places Mac wanted to be after an argument with Dennis, but it was the closest. With no way to summon or pay for a cab to Charlie’s, Mac couldn’t afford to be picky. 

“Dee. C’mon, open up,” he leant against the wall of the hallway as he continued to rap on the door. “I know you’re in there.” He paused for just the briefest of seconds before he began knocking on the door again, louder this time. 

“Jesus!” cried, Dee, wrenching open the door. True to predictions, she was alone in her pyjamas, a glass of half-drunk wine in her hand.

“Could you have taken any more time answering the fucking door?” said Mac, barging across the threshold to Dee’s apartment with a huff. “My feet are killing me...”

Dee leaned out, looking up and down the hallway for Dennis as she was painfully aware he and Mac were not sold separately. The hallway was empty.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, closing the door and eyeing Mac critically as he collapsed gratefully onto her couch with a groan. She watched, warily, as he wiped sweat off his forehead and gave another groan. “I swear to God, if you go into labor on my couch I will be pissed.”

“I’m not going into labor,” he said, hoping that was true. “I just walked all the way over here and I’m basically lugging around a mini-fridge on my front so that kinda takes it out of you…”

“You walked here?” said Dee, “Why? Where’s Dennis?”

Mac glanced around Dee’s apartment, avoiding her gaze that pecked away at a person like a chicken pecking at seed on the floor. “We erm...we had a fight…” he admitted.

“Oof, trouble in paradise?” asked Dee, taking a sip of wine with a smug little smile.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Mac.

“Good, because I don’t want to listen,” Dee shot back, making a point of curling herself up on the couch as far away as possible from Mac and turning up the television.

For several minutes the pair sat in silence, sharing all the comfort and cheerfulness of two strangers on the same bench at the DMV. Eventually, the awkwardness proved too much for Mac, who was desperate to have someone fighting in his corner with him.

“Dennis doesn’t want to raise our son Catholic…”

“And you do?” snorted Dee. “Jesus, you’re an idiot...”

Mac closed his eyes in defeat. This was just typical of the Reynolds twins. They were always completely diametrically opposed in feeling and thought unless it was against Mac’s interests for them to agree. 

Turning his attention to what was on the TV, Mac did his best to forget about the fight and the lack of support from Dee. Unfortunately for Mac, Dee’s taste in television was shit. He watched, his nose wrinkling in a mixture of confusion and disgust as a very flamboyant man cried, “Girrrrl,  _ you _ don’t even!” which was apparently a joke, at least according to the laugh track that played. 

“What the fuck is this you’re watching?”

“It’s a sitcom,” said Dee, taking a glug of wine. “She’s a struggling waitress and that’s her gay BFF.”

“Her gay  _ what _ ?” asked Mac, wondering whether this was a new hate crime he needed to be wary of.

“Gay Best Friend Forever,” explained Dee. “And are you gonna talk the entire time?”

Mac held his hands up in an insincere apology and watched the leading lady and the clearly straight man playing the gay guy share a totally normal human interaction about how even though they both liked the same guy at the coffee shop, it would never affect their friendship. Their declarations of everlasting friendship were accompanied by a swell of piano and a chorus of ‘aww’ from a studio audience that the episode had been (allegedly) filmed in front of.

“Wish I had a friend like that…” muttered Dee, upending the rest of the bottle of wine into her glass.

Mac frowned. “Dee, I’m right here.”

Dee gave a loud cackle, fuelled by alcohol and bitterness. “You? Pft. Yeah, right…”

“I’m gay, I’m your friend - what’s the difference?”

“The difference is I hate you,” said Dee, with surprising speed and venom.

Mac frowned. “You really should try to be nicer to me,” he said, causing Dee to roll her eyes. “I’m practically family. I’m carrying your nephew. I’m dating your brother, for God's Sake…”

“You sure about that?” smirked Dee, watching over her wineglass as Mac looked worried. “He’s dumped better women for less…”

“He’s not going to dump me…” said Mac quietly, hoping he sounded more convinced than he felt.

“Oh yeah,” said Dee sarcastically. “I mean, you’re only weeks into a new relationship and you guys have had a giant fight about raising a baby that’s not biologically his so I’m sure you’re gonna kiss and make up  _ real _ easy…” she stood up, giving a small wobble as the alcohol in her system announced its presence. She walked past Mac to retrieve a second bottle of bottom-shelf wine from the kitchen, pressing a single long, pointy talon into his stomach as she passed.

Mac waited till she was tussling with the bottle opener before reaching across to grab her phone from the arm of the couch. As he was trying to type out a message to Charlie and Frank, Dennis' number popped up on the screen as an incoming call, with the contact named ‘The Vain One’. Mac hit decline and finished typing up a message. 

Within seconds there was a further incoming call from The Vain one, which he again declined. Mac noted with a small nudge of annoyance, Dee’s phone listed Charlie as ‘Charlie’ but Frank as ‘The Old One’ as he entered the recipients. He hit send and was about to put the phone back where he’d found it before he felt a desire to check. He scanned Dee’s contact list, which was embarrassingly short, before he recognised his number saved as ‘The Gay One’.

“Unimaginative,” Mac muttered, dropping the phone. “And  _ so _ homophobic.”

Just before Dee returned to the living room armed with a fresh bottle of wine, Mac returned the phone to its original position and sat back on his side of the couch, trying to appear as innocent as possible. 

“Here,” she said, throwing a bag of chips at Mac’s head. “Not like you need the calories, but..”

Within another five minutes of Dee’s chosen sitcom, her phone buzzed. She made a big production of hitting ‘accept’ as she turned to look at Mac. “Dennis, hi!” she cried with fake fondness; she watched Mac squirm as she pretended to listen to her brother drone on and on at the other end of the phone. 

“Yeah, Mac’s here. He’s being all gross and pregnant on my couch - can you come get him please?” there was a pause as Dennis said something Dee had zero interest in. “Okay - great.” She hit the call end button.

“Dennis is on his way,” she said, pointlessly. “You’ve got ten minutes before he gets here, if you get a waddle on you can probably make it to the end of the block before he gets here…”

Mac ignored her, too tired from the fight and the walk over to go anywhere else tonight. It actually only took Dennis eight minutes to get to Dee’s, thanks to him feeling some stop signs were more of a suggestion than a legal requirement, especially this late at night. He opened the door to Dee’s apartment, doing his best to appear unflustered.

“Hey,” he said to Mac, who returned his greeting with a glare.

“Dee, can you give us the room?” asked Dennis, waving his sister away and steeling himself for round two of this verbal showdown. 

“What?” cried Dee. “No, you jackasses are the ones that had the fight and gatecrashed my apartment - I’m not hiding out in my bedroom whilst you guys do your gay kiss and makeup routine. You clear out!”

Dennis felt he had the energy for one fight and one fight only. Another day, his sister would have felt the full force of his irritation but today he let her win - Lord knows her life was miserable enough as it was.

“Fine,” he spat, storing this surrender away for a later date. “Mac, can I speak to you in Dee’s bedroom?”

Mac rolled his eyes but moved to haul himself up from Dee’s couch. Dennis held out a hand but Mac ignored it, as if he hadn’t made it painfully apparent to everyone in the room that he was still pissed.

Safely behind the wooden partition to Dee’s bedroom, Dennis began his apology. At least, he intended it as an apology, but it ended up starting as a lecture which, admittedly, wasn’t the smartest way to proceed. 

“That was a really stupid thing to do,” said Dennis, as Mac sat down on the edge of Dee’s bed. “storming off without your phone in the middle of the night.”

“Did you really come all the way over here to insult me?” asked Mac.

“I had to, you’d left your phone behind.” 

As the look on Mac’s face grew darker and more unfriendly, Dennis knew he’d need to lighten this up a bit. “I was worried about you, Mac. Waltzing off late at night...it’s dangerous...” 

Unfortunately, Mac was in such a mood that these pleas did nothing to soften the look on his face. Dennis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Mac...I’m...I’m sorry we had a fight, okay?”

Mac, who had been studiously avoiding eye-contact, looked up, surprised at what he was hearing. In all the thousands of arguments they shared over the years, Dennis was hardly ever the one to initiate the apology. 

“The fact we fought at all probably means we should have had a few more conversations about our respective parenting styles by now but…” he paused as he arranged his thoughts and second-checked for anything that might trigger another hormonal storm out from Mac. “I don’t like the idea of our son being part of the same religion that made you feel so shitty for years of your life. I don’t think I could stand to see it do to him what it did to you, okay?” 

Dennis shifted on his feet, feeling more uncomfortable at Mac subjecting him to his expectant gaze than his clearly pissed off face. Right now he’d take that frown back in a heartbeat - it was easier to read. You knew where you stood when people looked like they wanted to punch you. 

“You know how I feel - I think organised religion is a scam to get you to turn up somewhere once a week and hand over your hard-earned money for some fake peace of mind...but…” he paused, biting his lip to hold back the anti-religious rant that rested on the tip of his tongue. “It means a lot to you. And...because of that, I think we both should have our say in raising our son. So,how about you take him to church, let him attend mass and carol services and all of that--” Dennis whirled his hand around dismissively and just about stopping himself from making a further error “bull- _ stuff... _ and I get to tell them that I don’t believe there’s a bearded all-knowing being that lives in the sky that impregnates virgins and turns people into pillars of salt…” He exhaled “And when our son is old enough, he can decide for himself if he’s religious or not.”

He looked at Mac, who was watching him intently and looking about ready to throw himself at Dennis for a hug. There was a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips like he was trying to cling onto his anger for dear life but Dennis was making it difficult. 

“That sound...okay to you?”

Mac nodded and gratefully folded his arms around Dennis’ neck as the taller man darted in for a hug. The pair held each for a while, the awfulness of Dee’s dire sitcom just audible enough through the wooden slats to be annoying. 

“What the fuck is she watching?” asked Dennis, mostly to himself. “Oh,” he said, sitting back on his haunches as he remembered something far more important than his sister’s questionable taste in television. “On the drive over here, I think I’ve come up with the perfect name for our baby. You wanna hear it?”

“Sure, dude,” said Mac.

“Okay, get ready for this as I think I’m onto something incredible here” Dennis paused, unable to resist his flair for the dramatic. Mac, ever dutiful, braced himself. “Danger. Danger McDonald-Reynolds.”

He watched as Mac’s eyes widened. “Oh...shit,” said Mac, softly. “That’s the most amazing name  _ ever _ .”

Dennis beamed at him. “I mean, it’s got everything we wanted - it’s cool, it’s unique...we can even call him Dan for short-”

“But why would we, it’s the coolest name ever for a kid! Dude...” added Mac softly. “You just named our baby…” he brought Dennis’ palm to rest on his stomach with a smile.

Unable to resist Mac being so smitten with his baby name suggestion, Dennis leant in for a kiss. At that moment, despite being in his sister’s tragic excuse for a bedroom, Dennis felt relief and excitement. The fight was over, their son had a name - an awesome name. The earlier aggravations and upset of the evening were behind them. 

“Hey...d’you wanna fuck on Dee’s bed?” he asked, feeling the desire to piss off his sister and put Mac and his argument behind them in a single passionate act.

“Absolutely.”

Beyond the partition, Dee was making slow and steady progress through her second bottle of wine when there was a second, unexpected knock at her front door only for it to be thrown open by Frank before she had a chance to answer.

“Hey-oo,” said Frank. “We’re here for the gay BFF hang!”

“The what?” asked Dee, thoroughly confused as Frank and Charlie sauntered into her apartment, dressed in their bedclothes and outdoor shoes.

“You texted us,” said Charlie, extracting his phone from the waistband at the rear of his long johns. “See?” he read the message, stalling and stammering over the characters. “‘G-gay BB...S?. Oh, F...hung-out.’”

“Goddammit, Mac,” snarled Dee.

“Where is Mac, I thought he was here?” asked Frank, walking over to the sofa and helping himself to a handful of potato chips from the open bag. 

“He and Dennis are having a 'lovers spat' in my bedroom,” said Dee. 

Charlie, who’d been investigating a curious source of noise, pulled his ear away from the wooden-slatted partition. “Oof. Not anymore, Dee,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “Think they might have moved onto the make-up stage...”

There was a moment of silence, allowing everyone in the living room to hear the sounds of Dee’s bedsprings and headboard squeaking. 

“Oh, GodDAMMIT!” cried Dee. “I put fresh sheets on today!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what you all wanted from an Always Sunny mpreg fic, right? Chapters chock-full of daddy issues and disagreements about religious upbringings? 
> 
> Honestly - I'm surprised myself with where this fic is going, given it basically started out life as 'haha, pregnant Mac!'


	18. WDDD?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis tries to prepare him and Mac for the imminent arrival of their baby, but first, he needs to make sure the rest of the Gang won't screw up.

As if being imminently about to give birth wasn’t uncomfortable enough for Mac, a heatwave descended on Philly.

“Alright, idiots,” said Dennis, breezing into the bar one afternoon in early August, his cool tone at odds with the pavement cracking temperatures outside. “Important Mac and Dennis announcement, so you know the drill: ears open, mouths  _ closed _ .”

From their spots at the bar, Dee, Charlie and Frank peered behind Dennis.

“Where the fuck is Mac?” asked Dee. 

Dennis turned around, noting the lack of his heavily pregnant boyfriend. “Goddammit,” he muttered before he addressed the others. “He was right behind me...he’s not as quick on his feet nowadays.” He made a show of waiting a couple of seconds before striding towards the others. “He’ll catch up.” 

Mac did catch-up, a good several minutes later. He arrived clearly winded with large sweat patches on his t-shirt. He clung to the doorframe of the bar. “Fuck…” he panted, pointing at Dennis. “Fuck...you.”

Wiping the sweat off his forehead with his arm, Mac shuffled towards the others still breathing very heavily much to the wariness of everyone else. He was that stage of pregnancy that no-one would willingly travel in an elevator with him - that would just be asking for sitcom-style shenanigans.

Gratefully dropping into a chair, Mac drew in a few more deep breaths, his practically non-existent energy levels depleted by the fucking trek he’d just needed to make from the car.

Dee raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?” she asked, cautiously. “Do we need to throw down a tarp or something? You gonna just heave the kid out right here in the bar?” 

“No going into labor in the bar,” said Frank, waving his hands decisively, as if that was enough to halt childbirth.

“I’m not--” began Mac as Charlie jumped out of his seat and disappeared in a blur of khaki and manic energy. “I’m not...going into labor,” he finished, feeling the burn of his lungs recede slightly. “I’m just-”

Charlie came barrelling back onto the scene. “Hold on, buddy,” he cried, turning the conversation into something unexpectedly loud and chaotic. “I need you to stay calm, okay? Okay! Can you do that?” he demanded, wrenching off his belt in one impressive motion that under less strange circumstances would have received a nod of genuine approval from the Gang. 

He tossed the belt to Mac before unsheathing the scimitar that was strapped to his back. As the rest of the Gang watched in abject horror, Charlie spun the cap off a bottle of suspiciously cheap vodka and doused the blade. 

“I’m gonna need you to bite down on the belt, okay buddy? Cos this is gonna hurt like shit but here we go! Brace yourself, Mac!”

It was only as Charlie went to pull up Mac’s t-shirt, the sharp edge of the blade moving towards his stomach did everyone else intervene. Dennis managed to wrestle the blade from Charlie’s hands as Dee grabbed the shorter guy by his shoulders to pull him away from Mac, who was preoccupied with pushing his chair as far away from the sword as possible. Frank watched on, not entirely certain what was going on or how he should help. 

“What the _fuck_ , Charlie?” cried Dennis, the scimitar raised high in the air, ironically out of harms away.

“Emergency c-section,” explained Charlie, still being held back by Dee. Sensing that his actions were being disapproved of, he shrugged himself free of her vice-like grip. “I was gonna help Mac have his baby...”

“I’m not in labor, Charlie,” said Mac quietly, palms raised to try and calm down his friend.

“Oh shit...” said Charlie. “You’re not?”

Mac shook his head, throwing a worried glance at Dennis who had been letting his arm lower towards the floor. The curved blade was once again raised out of Charlie-grabbing range.

“My bad,” sighed Charlie. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just really stressed about this whole baby thing...I feel like I’m on edge all the time, y’know?”

The two expectant parents in the room knew that feeling well.

“So Mac comes in here and lookin’ all ready to give birth and shit...and I just went into panic mode. I’ve been ready to deliver the baby for weeks now..like, I’ve looked up loads of videos of hippo births on youtube, so I’m  _ very _ well prepared.”

“Well, that’s...that’s great, Charlie,” said Dennis, not entirely meaning it. “But if Mac was in labor, we’d go to the hospital...and we’d have a professional deliver the baby - no offense,” he added quickly, recalling the way Charlie had produced the long-lost scimitar out of seemingly nowhere.

Charlie affably waved away the apparent insult and smiled. “Nah, it’s cool. False alarm, eh?”. He retrieved his belt from Mac, who was looking no less unnerved for Charlie seeming content  _ not _ to slice him open right that second.

“Charlie, why don’t you go put the vodka and the…” Dennis spotted a bag of assorted tools dumped on the floor where Charlie had begun the first steps in his impromptu cesarean. In the bag, Dennis could see a pair of pliers, some cable ties and a candy necklace,“...the scimitar back where you got them and, erm...we’ll have a talk, shall we?” 

Charlie nodded, collecting together his low-rent medical equipment.

“Little dude was totally gonna cut me open,” said Mac, watching Charlie walk into the back office, genuinely horrified.

“Oh, he would  _ not  _ have hesitated,” agreed Dennis. “Thank God I stopped him…”

Eventually, Dennis had the captive audience that he craved. 

“Okay,” he said, “as Charlie has very helpfully and...dramatically reminded us, Mac is stupid pregnant.” Mac frowned at the expression but Dennis continued. “That means this baby could get here any day now. So I’m going to insist that Mac stay at home in the apartment. I’m going to keep coming to the bar but I need you guys to keep me out of your bullshit, okay?”

Three blank faces looked back at him. Biting back a sigh, Dennis talked through his requirements. They ought to have been easy to understand but the Gang was never great at picking up a pretty fucking clear message.

“I cannot get mixed up in your stupidity right now. I mean it: no schemes, no scams, no rackets - nothing. I cannot have you phoning me every hour of the Goddamn day going, ‘Dennis, help me’ or ‘oh no, there’s a fire’ or what have you. Okay? Mac is liable to go pop any day now...I need to be 100% focused on him and the baby.”

He paused, his gaze sliding across the faces of Dee, Charlie and Frank searching for any signs of comprehension. 

“So, what I need from you three,” he said, each word carefully chosen to give the minimal amount of interpretation room, “is for you to  _ not _ contact me whenever shit goes south, which let’s face it...it will,” he smirked to himself. “Instead, what I need you to do is ask yourselves ‘What Would Dennis Do?’ and then do  _ that _ . Is that clear? We all on the same page?”

There was a murmur of acknowledgement, which Dennis would have been pleased to hear if it weren’t for an odd phrase that rang out through the jumble of half-hearted acceptances.

“Charlie, what did you just say?”

Charlie froze, put on the spot. Seconds ticked by, everyone watching him intently. 

“...bum Mac?” he said, eventually, sounding like a man who knew it was the wrong answer.

“What?” asked Dennis.

“Bum Mac,” repeated Charlie, with a little more certainty this time. He looked to Dee and Frank for support, watched by Mac and Dennis who were wearing matching bewildered expressions. “You said we need to think ‘What Would Dennis Do?’, and I thought about that and I all I could think about was that you’d bum Mac so-”

“I was thinking that too!” said Dee.

“And me,” added Frank. 

Dennis watched with mounting irritation as the three idiots in front of him turned their limited attention away from him to loudly discuss how the ‘WWDD’ system involved having sex with Mac and little else.

“Okay, okay,” said Dennis, feeling his temperature rising that had nothing to do with the heatwave. “Quit it with the bum sex stuff, okay?”

“What if I gotta problem that can’t be solved with butt sex?” asked Frank. “Can I call you then?” 

“Stop talking about me having sex with Mac, alright?!” cried Dennis, the irritation driving up the volume and tone of his words. “Apart from being totally unnecessary and completely crass, it’s actually  _ incredibly  _ inaccurate right now, okay!”

Dee raised an eyebrow at the outburst. “Yeah, no shit,” she muttered.

“I am eight months pregnant, you asshole!” said Mac, shaking his head at Dennis sharing the details of their (lack of) sexual exploits with the others. “And you just made me walk 20 minutes uphill in a 104-degree heatwave, you think I wanna fuck you after that?”

“20 minutes?” repeated Charlie. “Where’d you guys park?”

“On the corner by that gas station we keep getting food poisoning from-” replied Dennis.

“I told you guys we need to stop going there,” said Dee, but was soundly ignored.

Sensing that the room wasn’t on his side, Dennis set about explaining himself. “Look, an old sexual conquest of mine works near there and her boyfriend drives one of those stupid electronic vehicles so I parked the Land Rover right by as a protest.”

He looked around, only to be met with unimpressed faces. 

“Way to stick it to the man, Dennis,” said Mac, crossing his arms over his bump. “I’m sure your ex-hookups new boyfriend is really going to regret buying an electronic car now…”

Dennis waved away the offtopic issue with a flap of his hands. “Regardless,” he said, “I can’t be caught up in your usual dramas and hijinks right now, guys - okay? I mean it. You’re all adults for fuck’s sake - you can sort your own problems out.” With an air of finality, Dennis helped himself to a beer from the bar. 

“Jesus, okay. We get it, whatever...” said Dee, just wanting the lecture to be over. “But enough about what we’re meant to be doing, what about you two morons. Are _you_ ready for this baby?”

From their respective spots, Mac and Dennis froze. For a fraction of a second, there was a flicker of fear across both of their faces. The full reality of welcoming a tiny human into their lives, helpless and vulnerable was a daunting prospect. They could be honest - they could tell the rest of the Gang about the unspoken fear that filled their apartment and lurked silently in the background of any conversation about the baby. 

“Pft,” said Dennis dismissively, taking a swig of beer. “Born ready, bird.”

“Yeah,” agreed Mac, taking his cue from Dennis. “Like, I almost wish I was in labor cos we're _that_ ready.”

“We are totally prepared” lied Dennis “so don’t be surprised if any day now you get a call from me from the delivery room going ‘fuck you losers, I’m a dad!”

“You’re going to be in the delivery room?” asked Dee, incredulous at the very notion.

“Absolutely. I’m a modern man, I want to witness the miracle of birth up close and personal. Frankly, it’s offensive you thought I’d be anywhere else whilst my son enters the world…”

“Hey, Frank,” asked Charlie, twisting to look at the old guy. “Were you Dennis and Dee’s birth?”

“Are you kidding?" laughed Dennis. "He wasn’t even at the conception..."

“Nah,” said Frank, gruffly. “Not my scene.” as if he was talking about a trendy new nightclub rather than the miracle of birth.

“Jesus,” muttered Dee.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong - I’m all for a broad screaming and shitting but if that’s happening and I’m paying for it, I ought to be gettin’ my rocks off, y’know?”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t find anything inherently sexual about our birth, Frank,” said Dennis, once again finding new and intense levels of disgust for the man whose second name he shared. 

\--------------------

For Dennis, the next week was nothing short of nerve-wracking. Contrary to all of the assurances and boasting he’d thrown about at the bar, he felt constantly jittery and worried. The crushing notion that he could become a father at any minute was praying on him during every waking moment and tainting his sleep with nightmares. 

Mac wasn’t helping either. 

Dennis swore he’d barely avoided having a heart attack when he heard Mac shout “oh fuck!” from the kitchen, only to peer around the doorframe at Dennis to add “we’re out of poptarts.” 

Feeling like each passing day eroded more and more of Dennis’ patience and composure, it wasn’t surprising that he had a minor but entirely justified overreaction to Mac calling him, unannounced, in the middle of the day.

“Mac, you okay?” cried Dennis, accepting the video call and immediately saying without waiting for an answer: “I’m on my way, stay calm okay?!?”

“What?” said Mac, from the phone, watching as Dennis all but ran across the bar “No, no - I’m fine. No baby yet, we’re cool...”

Dennis came to an abrupt halt. “What? Mac, why are you calling me? I told you not to call me unless it’s an emergency”. He walked back to his spot behind the bar, watched with interest by Charlie.

“It is an emergency,” said Mac “I’m bored.”

“You being bored is not an emergency, Mac” replied Dennis, pressing a palm to his chest to try and stop his heart beating quite so violently. 

“Dennis, it’s so boring and lonely here” Mac whined. “Can I at least not come hang out at the bar?”

“Absolutely not.” came the emphatic reply.

Picking up the hint that Dennis was not as happy to receive Mac’s call, he went for a below the belt tactic that he was certain was going to get him off the hook. “The baby says hi...” as he turned the camera towards his bump.

Dennis’ resolve softened but he managed to stop his lips twitching into a smile. Charlie leaned over the bar top to wave at the phone screen “hi baby!”

“Very cute” conceded Dennis “but I mean it, don’t call me unless you’ve gone into labor. I’ll see you later.” He was just about to hang up when Mac spoke again, with a little more urgency.

“Wait, wait - there is something. It’s kinda an emergency…”

Raising an eyebrow, Dennis waited for a response - it was obvious his and Mac’s definitions of emergency clearly differed.

“Can you bring me some pulled pork and ice cream on your way back from the bar?”

“Are you going to eat them together in some ungodly combination?”

There was a pause, followed by an obvious lie. “...no.”

“Bye, Mac, be home soon. Don’t call unless you’re bringing new life into the world.”

When Dennis returned home that evening, he found Mac on the couch looking thoroughly fed-up. He put the takeout bag containing Mac’s order of pulled pork and ice-cream on the table and blew on his hands to warm them up. The apartment was glacial. 

“Why did I have to be so pregnant in a heatwave?” moaned Mac, one arm draped over his eyes.

“Next time-” said Dennis as he walked into the kitchen “-try to schedule your unplanned pregnancy to come to an end in the cooler months. I think we’ll both be a lot happier with that.”

“Can we turn the AC up? It’s boiling in here...”

Dennis walked over to Mac, carrying a washcloth and a bowl of water filled with ice-cubes. “No can do - it’s already at maximum.”

“For real?” Mac moved his arm to look at Dennis in surprise. He blinked. “Are you wearing a jumper? In this heat? Are you insane!”

“I have  _ way  _ less body fat than you, Mac. Besides, it’s fucking freezing in here to me - I’ve taken to standing in front of the open refrigerator to warm up.” He sat down next to Mac, and dipped the washcloth in the bowl. He draped the cloth across Mac’s clammy forehead.

“Thanks” murmured Mac gratefully. 

Despite the jumper, Dennis could feel goosebumps prickling up his arms. He wrapped his arms around his torso and tried to suppress a shiver. Mac gestured for Dennis to move in for a cuddle.

“Trust me, I’m basically carrying around a seven-pound hot water bottle,” he said, willing to let his body temperature raise another couple of degrees to spend some time snuggled up to Dennis. 

The pair sat pressed closely together in silence. It was moments like this where both of them felt the inescapable, indescribable pressure of their situation. In the quiet, there were no distractions from the fear or doubt that both carried with them and did their best to ignore.

“Anything happen at the bar today?” asked Mac, desperate to fill the worried silence and to feel a little less like he’d been thrown into pregnancy exile.

“Not really...” said Dennis, running his fingers through Mac’s hair. Similarly wanting to keep the white noise of fretfulness in the background where he could with enough determination tune it out, he added. “Oh, Charlie is re-writing the musical Cats to be about Dogs...” he paused, hoping Mac would whack this conversational topic back his way with a comment or a joke. Instead, silence.

“I feel like Charlie’s version would either make way less sense or way  _ more _ sense…” mused Dennis, wondering how in the hell he was going to stretch talk about Charlie’s playwright aspirations to fill an entire evening.

“Dennis” said Mac, eventually, his voice sounding small and brittle. “I’m really scared....”

After a beat, Dennis felt able to answer. “Me too, man. Me too…”


	19. A Balloon for Charlie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whether they're ready or not, Mac and Dennis' baby is on its way.

For the next week, Mac and Dennis fell into an uneasy routine. Dennis would come back from the bar, usually with an unwholesome food order from Mac and the pair would wait it out, the evenings stretching out in a seemingly interminable waiting game.

One evening, Dennis returned home to find Mac’s usual spot on the couch vacant. This late into his pregnancy, Mac didn’t move anywhere unless he needed to.

“Mac?” Dennis called, tossing the car keys onto the dining table. 

“Hey,” Mac said, hobbling out of their bedroom, both hands cradling his lower back.

Dennis spotted the look on Mac’s face; an expression that hovered somewhere between discomfort and pained. “You okay?” 

Mac dismissed the concern with a small shake of his head. “I’m fine, it’s just my back is killing me today...”

“Sit down, you shouldn’t be on your feet.”

“I can’t,” explained Mac, managing to hold back a groan as he answered. “It hurts even worse when I sit down…”

Dennis couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right but Mac, the only pregnant one in this scenario didn’t seem too concerned. Dennis watched with a growing sense of unease as Mac paced around the apartment, both palms firmly pressed to his lower back and frowning all the while.

Mac stopped his small circuit of the living room to hold onto the doorframe of their bedroom, wincing in obvious and growing discomfort. Despite all his complaints about loneliness during the day when everyone else was at the bar, he hadn’t paid Dennis much attention.

Before too long, Mac was back to pacing again, his face set in a constant scowl. 

“Hey, er, Mac,” said Dennis, just loud enough to get Mac’s attention without spooking him “I...erm...I don’t want to worry you what but I think you might be in labor...”

“What?” cried Mac as this was apparently news to him.

Dennis walked over to where Mac had frozen mid-way through what was his forty-something circuit of the apartment. He’d been reading up on it on his phone. Truthfully, Dennis was starting to regret not buying one of those ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ books, or at least taking a bit of time to read up on labor. The thought of the ‘grand finale’ made me feel queasy though, so he’d always postponed that task for another day. Apparently today was that day. 

“Yeah, back pain, discomfort - you had any stomach cramps?”

“...maybe.”

“Maybe? It’s a yes or no answer, Mac” said Dennis, watching as Mac expression turned from nervous to sheepish. “What have you eaten today?”

“Just the leftover chilli...and ice-cream.”

“Together?” 

Mac nodded, as he if needed to answer.

Dennis found the strength within him not to sigh. Mac’s weird-ass cravings would absolutely not be missed one bit once this pregnancy was over.

“Okay,” he said “let’s see how you feel in a bit. Maybe it’s something you ate or maybe it’s-” the words caught in his throat. It was a terrifying notion to admit - that labor had begun and their child was on its way. Thankfully, Mac understood Dennis’ reservations without needing to hear the rest of that sentence and nodded in agreement. 

Minutes dragged by as Dennis watched Mac shuffling around the living room. 

Mac drew a sharp intake of breath as one hand flew to the underside of his bump. “Shit” he muttered. “My stomach just cramped…”

Dennis stood up from the couch. “Okay,” he said, trying to keep his words perfectly calm and soothing, “so it sounds like you might be having contractions…” he looked at Mac. “I think you’re in labor, man.”

“Fuck,” said Mac, amazingly, with a grin. He had been waiting for this, after all. All too quickly the full realisation of the situation hit him. “...fuck” he repeated, his expletive tinged with dread.

“I kinda thought it would be more dramatic than this…” mused Dennis “like, more screaming, your broken water just gushing about the place...”

“Gross, dude,” said Mac, with a frown that had nothing to do with his latent labor.

“I’m just saying this isn’t what I pictured.” Dennis paused, watching Mac intently as if waiting for things to get more interesting. They didn’t. “So...what do we do?”

Mac shrugged, back to massaging his lower back. “I dunno...I guess we wait?”

That plan seemed wrong to Dennis - shouldn’t they be doing something? Anything? Surely there was some action the pair could take rather than waiting around like this baby was a late food delivery order. 

“I guess so...” said Dennis unconvinced. “I mean, you should be the one telling me. You’re in labor. How’d you feel? You feeling okay?”

“Actually yeah,” said Mac “it honestly doesn’t hurt that bad…” He could have stopped there but his inherent cockiness always got the better of him. “I don’t know what women are whining about, this is going to be a fucking cakewalk...”

Unsurprisingly, Mac came to regret those words mere hours later.

“Oh FUCK! Jesus Christ, this is so  _ fucking _ painful” he cried in the passenger seat of Dennis’ Land Rover as they sped towards the hospital. His knuckles were white as he gripped onto the grab handle of the car, partly due to the pain and partly due to the absurd speeds Dennis was doing. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck” he moaned through gritted teeth as the contraction hit its peak. The pain eased, just enough for him to say something that wasn’t a jumble of expletives. “Oh shit - this is horrible, this can’t be right. I’m dying, Dennis. Fuck, I’m dying”. He dropped his head back against the headrest and tried to take a few deep breaths to prepare himself for the next onslaught of contractions.

“You’re not dying,” said Dennis, speeding through a red light with zero hesitation. “It’s a contraction, you’re fine...this is all perfectly normal.”

Mac was unconvinced. “I’m dying” he repeated before another thought occurred to him as his insides began to twist again. “Oh, shit - no. I’m dead. I’m already dead and this is hell and God is punishing me for all the gay sex I had.” He groaned as the intensity of the pain began to increase, slowly but surely. “Oh  _ fuck _ . If God didn’t want me to have gay sex why’d he make it so good!?!”

As Mac labored in the passenger seat next to him, Dennis would never admit it but he was actually really enjoying this drive. True, he was to put it mildly scared shitless...but it was rare he was able to drive the Land Rover like this. Philly’s painfully restrictive traffic laws had never permitted him to go full throttle down the streets and roads of his city, the car lifting onto two wheels as he turned an impossibly tight corner at breakneck speeds. 

Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but the Land Rover felt like an extension of his mind and body; man and metal working in perfect harmony and at mind-boggling speeds. 

“Dennis, Dennis,” said Mac, reaching out to grab his boyfriend’s arm “I’ve changed my mind, I want to go home. Take me home” he hissed in pain “I can’t do this, I’m not ready to have a baby, dude.”

“It’s a little late for that, Mac.” 

Mac banged his head against the car headrest again and groaned. Towards the end, it began to mutate into a guttural yell. “Oh God, it’s like being punched in the gut with a knife that’s on fire - this is torture!” 

Somewhere through the fog of pain, Mac spotted the hospital zipping by the passenger window. “Where the fuck are we going?” he demanded.

“I know we’re against the clock right now,” said Dennis “but I just want to do one quick stretch on the freeway, I’ve not hit 120 yet and--”

Dennis stopped as he felt Mac’s fingers latch around his throat, the movement striking with all the speed and silence of a cobra. Mac’s fingers exerted just enough pressure around Dennis’ throat to send the very clear message that he did not appreciate the unplanned diversions and would, if necessary, crush his boyfriend’s windpipe.

“Hospital” choked Dennis, gasping as Mac relinquished his vice-like grip to focus on the next wave of pain.

Something Dennis never understood about the healthcare system was you only ever got two types of nurses - either inexplicably cheerful as if you dragging yourself bodily into the Emergency Room was just the highlight of their fucking day, or cold and sarcastic. Today, Mac and Dennis were greeted by the type of nurse who seemed to be filled with nothing but sunshine and rainbows, despite working on a labor ward at some ungodly hour of the morning for too little pay.

“Okay - here’s your room,” she said like she was introducing the honeymoon suite at an exclusive hotel rather than a delivery room. “We’ve got a few procedures scheduled for later this morning, so it might be a few hours before you’re taken to the OR but let’s get you settled in, shall we?”

“Can you give me anything for the pain, lady?” asked Mac, his fingernails leaving deep indentations in the arm of the wheelchair he was in. He paused for a moment before adding hopefully, “ I think I’m ready to try heroin…”

The delivery nurse didn’t even blink “let’s try you on something a little softer first, then we’ll consider the illegal opiates, okay?”

Dennis had not counted on more waiting when they arrived at the hospital. He would never have imagined a scenario where he was equally bored  _ and _ terrified. Through the window, the dark night sky began to lighten as hour after hour dragged by. 

“Just breathe, Mac,” said Dennis, completely misguided as to how helpful he was being.

“Fuck off, Dennis” yelled Mac, “I am breathing, you useless fucking shit!”

As the contraction released its powerful grip on his insides, Mac collapsed back against the hospital bed, breathing heavily as the pain had sucked all the oxygen from his lungs “this is the worst” he muttered, “Jesus Christ, this is awful - it can’t get any worse than this...”

“Yoo” cried Dee, as she sauntered into the delivery suite, closely followed by Charlie and Frank.

“Fuck,” said Mac. 

“What the shit,” said Dee, noting the distinct lack of new-born baby “you’re still pregnant?” she scoffed “I gave birth in like,  _ half  _ the time.” 

“It’s not a competition, Dee,” said Dennis.

“Well, lucky for you boners it’s not-” replied Dee, flicking the back off the TV remote and dumping the batteries into her handbag “-or else Mac definitely would have lost…”

“What are you guys doing here anyhow?” asked Dennis, certain that Mac’s birth plan did not involve the rest of the Gang standing by as foul-mouthed spectators. 

“I came to see if there were any good drugs going spare I could have,” said Charlie, cheerfully. “Y’know, that A-grade hospital shit that is what it says it is...”

“You and me both, Charlie,” said Mac “I’ve not had any of that stuff, man. You know what they’ve given me? Tylenol, Charlie - they gave me fucking Tylenol” Mac’s voice rose as he felt the full injustice of the scenario and the start of a new contraction. 

“I have my trusty glue bag if you want something stronger” Charlie rummaged in his jacket pocket and offered Mac a crinkled paper bag that smelled strongly of solvents.

“No, no way,” said Dennis, knocking Charlie’s arm out of Mac’s eager reach “no glue sniffing in the delivery room.”

“More for me” shrugged Charlie. 

“Oh fuck” winced Mac “here comes another one - Dennis, give me your hand.”

Dennis, with only the slightest amount of hesitation, let Mac take his hand and the pair braced themselves for the inevitable pain. Dee, Charlie, and Frank stood around, radiating that uncomfortable energy when someone is clearly having a moment that you really weren’t meant to be included in.

“This is getting a bit intense for me” Frank whispered to Charlie, who had decided to cope with the awkwardness by taking a few healthy sniffs of his glue bag. “Come find me when it’s out,” he said, before wandering out of the room. “Good luck, Mac” he called over his shoulder. 

“Fuck you, Frank” Mac yelled back. 

“Just breathe, buddy” coaxed Dennis, feeling there was little else he could do or say at this time “c’mon, nice deep breaths - just like we practiced.”

“Oh my  _ GOD  _ \- will you shut the fuck up with that breathing shit?!? What the fuck do you think I’m doing besides breathing, you Goddamn fucking idiot!”

“Having a baby?” answered Charlie, when it seemed Dennis was at a loss for words.

“And stop fucking touching me” yelled Mac, violently shrugging Dennis’ hand off of his shoulder and slapping away his hand. He followed up with a sentence plucked from the big book of ‘Things No-one Ever Thought They’d Hear Mac Say to Dennis’ - “I can’t fucking stand you touching me.”

That demand didn’t last long though as within mere minutes Mac was in the throes of another contraction. “Dennis, hold my hand.”

“But you just sai-”

“Hold my _fucking_ hand, Dennis!” 

Dennis was even more reluctant to do so this time. As if it wasn’t bad enough getting his fingers crushed as Mac tried to ride out his latest contraction, Dennis was getting yelled at for doing exactly what he was told.

“Please, Dennis” begged Mac, reaching out his hand with obvious desperation. Dennis was always going to relent at that. An unhappy compromise was reached, whereby Mac held onto Dennis' hand but delivered a seemingly unending stream of insults and complaints.

“Fuck!” Mac cried, thrashing unhappily as Dennis tried to brush his fringe off his clammy forehead. “This is awful. This is the worst fucking thing in the world. I am never letting you have sex with me ever again after this…”

Dennis looked at Dee and Charlie “he...he doesn’t mean that” he said, personally unconvinced. 

Time dragged on. 

“I don’t think I can do this, Dennis” panted Mac, as he ‘enjoyed’ the brief respite from the pain “it’s too much. I-I can’t do it…”

“Sure you can, man,” said Dennis, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze “you’re doing so great-”

Dennis’ praise was drowned out by Mac yelling and cursing. 

“You’ve gotta help me, Dennis - I can’t do this by my fucking self!”

“Well, what d’you want me to do, Mac? Have the baby for you? You bite my Goddamn head off whenever I tell you to breathe!”

Mac clutched his boyfriend’s hand a little harder “take my mind off it, distract me!”

“Distract you? How?” said Dennis, his mind frantically scrambling around for something interesting enough to take Mac’s mind off the fact that he was hauling new life into the world in the most painful manner. 

“I don’t fucking know - just tell me something to take my mind off the pain.” 

Dennis watched as Mac tensed, the pain of the latest contraction rendering him vocal but helpless.

“I...think we should get married.”

“What the fuck?” said Mac, those words successfully distracting him from the agony. From the other side of the room, Charlie and Dee watched, similarly taken aback.

“You told me to distract you and, well I’ve been thinking about it and maybe we should...get married?”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?”

“Smooth,” said Dee sarcastically, knowing a botched proposal when she saw one.

“Read the room, dude” added Charlie.

Mac’s mood was not improved by a poorly-timed proposal and several more excruciating contractions. He thought he’d be able to handle the pain - after all, he wasn’t a pussy. He’d coped with numerous cuts, scrapes and broken bones over the years.

But this?

This was unparalleled torment. 

“Dennis” he whispered, somehow managing to hold onto his boyfriend’s hand even tighter despite it seeming physically impossible. “Dennis, I really think there’s something wrong. I think they’ve forgotten about me and it’s so...so fucking painful, man” he took a few, juddery breaths “I seriously think I’m dying or, the baby’s dying - one of us is dying. I need help, man.”

There was a look in Mac’s eyes that Dennis had never seen before, not even when they’d been staring at what seemed like certain death head-on and with no hope. There was an intense, wide-eyed, terrified stare that Mac had never worn before, not even with a loaded gun to his head or the seawater creeping up to his neck. 

Dennis realised there was something he could finally do. 

He wrapped both his hands around Mac’s palm and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, trying to soften the blow. “Mac, I’m going to need to leave but only because I need to go find a nurse to make you and the baby are okay.”

“Dennis, no. Don’t you leave me” said Mac, the thought of doing this solo chilling him to his core. 

“I have to, okay and I know it’s scary but…” he gestured to Dee “I am going to leave you in the giant, capable hands of someone who not  _ only  _ shares my DNA but who has also done this before...and Charlie.”

The Reynolds siblings exchanged an aggressive but perfectly silent exchange that ended with Dee holding Mac’s hand in place of Dennis. 

“I will be right back, I promise,” said Dennis as he backed out the door, “I love you.”

As the door to the delivery room closed, Charlie took initiative.

“Okay, buddy,” he said, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie “I’m just gonna take a quick peek under the hood and see how dilated you are.” He lifted up the covers at Mac’s feet.

“Charlie, get your fucking head out from under there before I kick it clean off your shoulders!” yelled Mac.

Dropping the covers, Charlie scurried back to the side of the bed. “Okay, okay,” he said, trying to soothe Mac “I’ll stay up here...at the shouty end…” He caught Dee’s eye as between them Mac battled through another contraction. “This is why humans should lay eggs,” said Charlie softly “it’s much easier...and cleaner…”

When Dennis had closed the door to the delivery room, he found himself half-collapsing against the wall, the stress and exhaustion of the last few hours momentarily getting the better of him.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?”

Dennis looked up to see Frank surveying him with something that adjusted humans might describe as sympathy. In his hand, he held a piece of ribbon attached to a pink ‘It’s a GIRL’ balloon. 

“Seeing someone you love in that much pain and knowing you’re the cause of it? It’s awful...”

“But I’m not the cause of it,” said Dennis weakly “not technically…”

Frank considered that with a slight raise of his eyebrows. “Huh. Me neither, with your mom. Guess that’s another thing we got in common, huh?”

Dennis ignored him. “I need to go, I need to go find a nurse -”

Before he could rush away, Frank put his hand on Dennis’ chest “whoa, whoa. Easy, Dennis. Slow down a second, okay. Look at you, you’re shaking like a wet dog. Take a minute, calm yourself down...” he pointed to the closed door of the delivery room “because you are no good to that boy in there if you’re freaking out too…”

Frank was being uncharacteristically sensible. Away from Mac’s beside, Dennis was feeling the full burden of being the supportive partner, the ever-present emotional rock. He felt perilously close to breaking down. 

Dennis gave a weak nod and tried to steady his breathing. “Okay...okay, ye-”

Suddenly, Frank slapped Dennis across the face with impressive force, given his advanced age. 

“What the shit, Frank?!?” cried Dennis, holding his stinging cheek “what the fuck was that for?”

“You were freakin’ out” explained Frank, as if his intentions ought to have been obvious. “You were losin’ it, I could tell.”

The sudden jolt of adrenaline had sharpened Dennis’ mind. He gently rubbed what he was certain was a bright red, raised mark of a palm-print on his cheek as he considered the balloon in Frank’s hand.

“You know we’re having a boy, right?”

“What? Oh, no. This is for Charlie. Kid can’t read so he won’t give a shit what it says…”

With that, Dennis felt emotionally stable enough to go find a nurse. He walked away, leaving Frank standing in the hallway of a maternity ward holding an ‘It’s a GIRL’ balloon intended for an illiterate man in his forties. 

“Pretend to cry a little when you’re talking!” Frank called after his son “nurses dig that sensitive father crap!”

Back in the delivery room, Dee and Charlie were doing their best to be attentive, supportive birth partners in Dennis' absence.

“Okay, buddy” coaxed Charlie, stroking Mac’s hair “you’re doing really well,  _ really  _ great.” He’d clambered onto the bed and was sat with Mac between his legs, talking his friend through each contraction. “C’mon, man - big push. You’re doing great, Mac.”

“Stop telling him to push, Charlie” hissed Dee, still holding Mac’s hand, mostly out of fear of what Dennis might say if he found out she hadn’t. “It’s not helping.”

“ _ You’re _ not helping” spat Charlie in retaliation.

A particularly intense patch of pain put a halt to the pairs bickering as in the middle of them, Mac let out a gut-wrenching yell.

“Where the fuck is Dennis?” he asked, squeezing Dee’s hand.

“He’s coming back, dude,” said Charlie, “and he’s gonna get you a nurse and some drugs and then, then you’ll have a baby. Won’t that be awesome, man? A cute little baby…”

Charlie’s reassurances did not help Mac. 

“Goddammit, Charlie” muttered Dee, before taking charge. “You're useless, let me”. Her voice suddenly became cloying and saccharine “heyyy, Mac. I’m going to need you to breathe with me, okay sweetie?” 

Had Dee been half as good at reading body language as she claimed she was, she’d have stopped right there. Nevertheless, she persisted, oblivious to the dark, almost feral scowl on Mac’s face that grew more forboding the more Dee spoke. 

“Nice, long deep breaths and let’s try picturing some happy thoughts, hmm? Nice, happy, fun thoughts. That sound good, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting - I'm an idiot who managed to dislocate her shoulder swatting at a fly so between being in a sling for a week and gently pushing myself to do more 'normal' daily tasks, I didn't get to finish the chapter when I intended.


	20. Danger McDonald-Reynolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac has an answer to Dennis' surprise proposal and the Gang meets their newest member.

“I kinda feel bad about punching Dee in the face,” said Mac.

“Don’t be” said Dennis, struggling to tap something out on his phone with the medical gloves he was wearing “from the way you tell it, she had it coming…”

Mac was in the Operating Room as around him doctors and nurses prepared for the procedure. In any other situation, Dennis would have objected to wearing a hairnet and a paper gown, but he felt able to make a special exception for his son’s birth.

“Okay, Mac,” said one of the doctors, “the  anesthetic should have taken effect by now. Are you feeling anything below the waist?”

“Nope,” said Mac cheerfully “this stuff is...fucking awesome. Can I get, like, a to-go bag of these drugs when we’re done?”

The doctor gave the most cursory of laughs. “Very funny,” he said, in a tone that suggested it wasn’t. “We get that joke a lot. We’ve a few more pieces to prep and then we’ll get started…”

“I was being serious...” said Mac.

“No phones in the OR, sir,” said a nurse with a stern look at Dennis over her mask.

“I’m about to welcome my son into the world,” said Dennis, “and I’m not meant to record it? What am I supposed to do, just ‘live in the moment?’ Rely on my brain to remember this once in a lifetime event?” 

Seeing the determined look on the nurse’s face, Dennis conceded. “Fine,” he said, as he made a dramatic show of stowing his phone in his jean pocket beneath the gown. “Oh and can we save the placenta?” he asked the room “we’re gonna give it to a homeless guy.”

“Do we owe Cricket for something?” asked Mac, not certain whether that was something he’d forgotten due to the pain and the quite brilliant painkillers.

“Nah,” said Dennis “this one’s a freebie. I’m feeling generous...plus, we probably ought to give the guy something, given the shit Dee’s pulled over the years.”

As the procedure was underway, Dennis was warned by one of the nurses: “you’re going to want to keep your gaze over that side of the screen. If you faint, we’re leaving on the floor till we’re done.”

“Pft” said Dennis “I can handle gore, okay? Blood and guts, it’s nothing to me. I’ve seen Predator more times than you can-oh my  _ God. _ ”

Dennis had looked over the screen and no amount of rewatches of the 1987 action/sci-fi movie could have prepared him for what he saw.

“Dude...your insides are all on the outside,” he said, closing his eyes and trying to stay upright as he desperately turned his head away from the horror show. 

“Lemme see” said Mac, lifting his head.

“No, idiot” said Dennis, gently pushing Mac’s head down. “Jesus Christ, it’s like a multi-car pile-up down there, you don’t want to see that!”

There was a brief moment of almost-silence, as the medical staff worked on the other side of  the screen.

“Hey, about that question you asked me earlier...” said Mac, with a smile “yeah, let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

Dennis raised his eyebrows over his own mask “that’s a pretty crappy way to accept a proposal, Mac.”

“Well, it was a pretty crappy proposal...”

“Fair point” admitted Dennis. 

“Y’know,” said Mac “these are our last few minutes before we’re parents...anything you want to say before things change forever?”

“Yes, actually,” replied Dennis, feeling far more able to broach this topic with a drug-riddled Mac “...you didn’t mean it about the no sex thing right?” 

“Okay guys,” said the doctor, far too deep inside of Mac’s innards for Dennis’ liking “here comes your baby.”

Dennis watched, awestruck as out of seemingly nowhere, his son was produced. Small, pink and wailing. It felt like a trick - nothing that profound or special could have been in Mac all that time, to have been so close all these long months whilst never being there. A small person with a whole lifetime of growing and changing and learning ahead of him. As the cries from those tiny lungs echoed around the OR, Dennis found his eyes brimming with tears. 

That OR was dusty as shit, man.

\-----------------

Mac lay in a hospital bed, experiencing the kind of dissociation you can only really achieve with a lack of sleep and powerful painkillers.

The door creaked cautiously open, as Charlie peeked inside.

“Did you do it?” he asked, sliding inside the room “did you have it?”

“Hey guys,” said Mac, each word feeling awkward and heavy on his tongue courtesy of some incredible hospital-administered drugs “I did it. I’m a dad!”

“Congrats, bud,” said Charlie as he wandered to Mac’s bedside, closely followed by Frank and Dee.

Mac caught sight of Dee’s eye, which was blossoming into an impressive, wince-inducing black eye.

“Oh, Dee,” he said “I’m sorry, I really am. Listen, me and Dennis have been talking and...we want to name the baby after you, but y’know, as a middle name, to make it up to you...”

Despite the A-grade shiner developing on her right eye, Dee managed a small smile before she fully considered what Mac had just said.

“Wait? You’re going to give your son the middle name Deandre?”

“What?” said Mac “No. That’s a girl’s name, we’re calling him D for his middle name…”

“Dee is still a girl’s name, Mac”

“No, it’s-it’s the letter D.”

Dee managed to look less impressed. “So it’s less naming the kid after me, more like just giving him the same initial as me?”

“No, y’see its - y’know what, nevermind. We’re not doing that, the baby isn’t having you as a middle name…”

“How you feeling, buddy?” asked Charlie.

“Oh dude, I feel great,” said Mac, the drugs doing most of the talking “like, I feel like I’ve been carrying a burrito in my stomach for nine months...and the burritos been taken out, and I feel really good and happy, y’know?”

Charlie snorted “how high are you right now, man?”

Mac laughed and answered “yeah...”

“Hey, speaking of getting silly,” said Charlie, as he extracted a bottle of beer from his hoodie front-pocket “I figured you could use a cold one after y’know, having a baby and everything.”

“Oh my God” said Mac, accepting the beer with immense gratitude “you’re the best, Charlie...listen, hey….me and Dennis have been talking and...we want to name the baby after you, but y’know, as a middle name.”

“Unbefuckingliveable” muttered Dee, before adding “and where the fuck is the baby?”

“Dennis and a nurse took him to go get weighed,” said Mac, taking a deep swig of a beer that definitely ought to be mixed with powerful painkillers, before adding. “The baby’s getting weighed...not Dennis...at least I think Dennis isn’t getting weighed…”

As if on cue, Dennis pushed open the door to the delivery room, his face achieving a glow better than any tinted moisturizer. No-one could have recalled ever seeing Dennis so happy. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice barely a whisper out of courtesy for the tiny life in his arms.

The rest of the Gang immediately lowered their volume by several decibels, as they gazed at the impossibly small baby. For a group of people who rarely had the correct emotional responses to situations, Charlie, Dee, and Frank all got a little choked up at the new arrival. 

“Oh my God” whispered Dee, “look at his tiny hands! Dennis, he’s fucking adorable.”

“Welcome the world, lil’ dude,” said Charlie, putting an arm around Frank who was trying to discreetly wipe away a tear behind his glasses. 

“Guys,” said Dennis, beaming “I’d like you to meet our son, Danger D. McDon-”

“Charlie” added Mac, from his place in the hospital bed. Before adding for clarification. “Danger D. Charlie”

Dennis blinked “well, this is new information to me so I’m going to have that discussion when my boyfriend isn’t off his face on pain meds.”

“Fianc é ” corrected Mac, that particular fact being so big and prominent in his head that it sliced through the muddled mess that was his postpartum brain.

“Anyway,” said Dennis, intent not to let anything ruin this moment. “Danger, I would like to introduce you to Auntie Dee, Grandpa Frank, and...Godfather Charlie.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Charlie held out his hands to hold the newest edition to the Gang.

“No, not yet, okay bud?” said Dennis, painfully aware of Charlie’s disappointment and his newborn son's unfused skull. 

Dennis carried Danger across to Mac, who was incandescent with obvious, infectious joy. 

“I did it” said Mac, not taking his eyes off his son “I made that...and it’s the best fucking thing I ever did...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Kelly for the joke about Cricket getting that placenta in the end!


	21. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8 Months later...

Dennis was driving to the park, the gold engagement band on his left hand glinting as the spring sunshine shone through the Land Rover’s windscreen. He pulled to the side of the road as he saw Mac on the sidewalk, crouching down to talk to Danger who was strapped into his stroller.

Flicking on his hazard lights, Dennis rolled down the window. “There’s my boys,” he said cheerfully. 

Mac unbuckled Danger and moved him to the booster seat that was now a permanent addition to the Land Rover. 

“Hey Danger,” said Dennis, twisting to smile at his son as Mac put the stroller into the trunk. “You have fun at the park, kiddo?”

Danger treated Dennis an enthusiastic, toothless grin and let out a squeal of delight. He’d inherited Mac’s dark hair, which had a tendency to stick up in every direction despite the pair’s best efforts to flatten it down. 

“How’d it go? You guys have a nice time?” he asked Mac as he climbed into the passenger seat. 

“Awesome,” said Mac, “they’ve got these new swings, you can go super high on them.”

“You were playing on the swings whilst you were meant to be taking our son to the park?” 

“He was napping,” explained Mac. “Plus, I needed to check it was up to code, dude. Health and safety.”

Dennis had to admit that was a plausible explanation for his fianc é using playground equipment meant for ages three and up. 

“Got you something by the way,” said Dennis, “check the glove compartment.”

Inside, Mac found an envelope and was opening it when Dennis added “Happy Anniversary. I know the weddings only a few months away but I figured we ought to have at least one anniversary before we tie the knot. I didn’t really know when we formally got together so I figure I’d just go with the date we first had sex.”

“Smart,” said Mac as he extracted two tickets from the envelope. “Phillies tickets - sweet!”

Dennis smiled. “It’s for this Saturday. I figured we could get Dee to babysit Danger. You and I can go out, have a nice meal at Guigino's, go watch some baseball, drink some beers, maybe do a few too many shots.” He paused “and then....how about we go home and try for another?”

Mac’s eyebrows shot up “another baby?” he asked, hopefully. 

“Yeah.”

“You hear that, Danger?” said Mac, turning round to address his son, who was preoccupied in trying to pull one of his shoes off. “You want a little brother?”

As Mac and Dennis shared a kiss, there was a loud blast of a horn behind their car. Whilst they’d been talking, a car had pulled up behind the Land Rover, assuming (quite understandably) that Dennis was going to drive off once he’d collected his child.

“Fuck you, asshole” Dennis cried through his window as the driver gesticulated angrily “trying to have a moment here.” 

With another loud blast of the horn, the car overtook the Land Rover, the driver flipping Dennis off as they sped away.

“Screw you, jerk!” Mac shouted after the vehicle. “You think you can ruin our special anniversary? You stupid dick!”

From the backseat, Danger let out a garbled yell of similar indignation.

Despite the rude interruption, Dennis’ good mood was unaffected. Life was pretty incredible right now. He smiled to himself as he drove home, listening to Mac talk him through everything he and Danger had done at the park. 

At a red light, he looked over at Mac and found himself, not the first time, wondering how they’d got here. None of this had been planned but to Dennis, it felt like everything had worked out perfectly. He had a fiancé, he had a young son. He felt happy - completely content, each day. A feat he’d previously thought impossible. 

Mac had turned Dennis’ life upside down and he was all the better for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote.
> 
> Let it be know this was how I spent a majority of my free time in the 2020 lockdown: writing a way too long mpreg fic for Always Sunny where I never once even got close to explaining how any of it was anatomically possible...
> 
> A huge thank you for every kudos and comment! It always brings a smile to myself to have someone leave a little note to say they've enjoyed the weird-ass stuff I wrote.


End file.
